Targets
by InfinityStar
Summary: There's a cop killer on the loose, and Goren saves Eames' life, putting his own in the balance. COMPLETE. R and R welcome. Disclaimer: Never owned 'em, never will. Thanks, Mr. Wolf
1. The Shooting

She heard the shot and the ricochet…then the second shot and pain, everywhere at once…a strangled cry of "Eames!" She felt herself begin to fall…and then everything went black.

Jimmy Deakins looked up as someone came into the waiting room. He felt only a little relief when two of his detectives came into the room. Mike Logan had his arm in a sling. Carolyn Barek had a bandage on her forehead and a significant limp. "What the hell happened out there? A park full of cops and someone starts picking off my detectives? Did anyone see anything?"

Logan looked at Barek. Deakins never exploded like that. He stepped back half a step and let her start. She gave him a look that said she'd be getting him back for it. "We aren't quite sure what happened. We got there right after Goren and Eames did. Eames said the body was found in the bushes, by a couple walking in the park."

"Anyone ask what they were doing in the park that late?"

"I don't know, Captain," she admitted.

Logan couldn't help himself. "Somebody starts shooting at you, you don't stop and ask questions…you dive for cover…well, most of us do."

Barek kicked him with the heel of her shoe. Deakins frowned. "What are you talking about?"

Barek continued, "Goren was just getting ready to examine the body when the shooting started. Eames…got hit. She went down…"

She looked away. The scenes that followed still haunted her, and they would for a long time to come. So much blood...and it was the blood of cops. Logan shifted uncomfortably. Deakins looked at the two detectives. "And?"

Barek remained silent. Logan seemed to realize it was his turn, or the captain wasn't going to find out what went down, and that was not an option. As much as he resented Robert Goren, he wasn't sure he could have done what Goren had done, even for his partner. "Damn, Captain…Goren…I don't know…I know Eames is…" He trailed off for a moment, seeking the right word for what she meant to her partner and, failing to find it, he continued with his description of what had happened. "He grabbed her when she started to fall…there were more shots…" He looked around the room, running his hand over his hair. "I would do whatever I could to get my partner to safety, but he…he went beyond that because there was no way to get Eames to safety. He had to know where those shots were coming from. You know him; he would have figured it out."

When he paused, Deakins asked, "How do you know he knew, Mike?"

"Because he grabbed her and turned, Captain; he put himself between her and that sniper…and took at least two bullets…ones that would have hit her…" He shook his head and shrugged his shoulders, wincing at the flare of pain from the bullet injury in his slinged arm. He met Deakins' eyes and with firm resolve, he said, "Those bullets would have killed her. He saved her life. We all saw that."

Deakins looked at Barek, who nodded. "He did save her life, Captain, and he put his on the line to do it."

Deakins ran a hand over his silver hair. He looked at his two injured detectives. "CSU just started their trajectory analysis. The only thing we know for sure is there's a cop killer out there. Two uniforms didn't make it, and we don't know about Goren and Eames yet." He paused. He didn't even want to consider the ramifications of that. "So we sit and wait…until we hear from CSU or the doctors."


	2. The Brotherhood of the Badge

The surgeon stepped into the waiting room and looked at the three police officers trying to sleep, unsuccessfully. He'd removed his gloves and mask, and his external gown. Deakins saw him first, jumped to his feet and approached him. He shook Deakins' hand; he had talked to him briefly before he went in to surgery. "How is she, doctor?"

The surgeon's nod was self-satisfied. "She's going to make it. I expected to be in there a lot longer than three hours. She got very lucky. The bullet just missed her heart, and it only did minor damage to one lung. She's stable and breathing on her own. She'll be in the ICU for a day, maybe two, then we can transfer her up to the post-surgical floor. She'll recover fully."

"How long before we can see her?"

"She'll sleep for awhile. Maybe around dinnertime I'll let her have a visitor or two."

"Thank you, doctor. Have you heard anything about my other detective?"

The doctor shook his head. "Not recently. Last I heard it was touch and go. I would guess it'll still be awhile."

"Thank you."

The doctor left and Deakins looked at Logan and Barek. Neither detective said a word. They simply returned to their seats to resume the vigil with their captain.

Mike Logan stretched his legs out in front of him. 'You'd think they'd have comfortable chairs in a surgical waiting room, dammit.' Still unable to get comfortable, his shoulder aching, he got to his feet, pulling a small medicine bottle from his pocket. He walked to the coffee machine and punched "Coffee." Then "Strong." Then "Black." At least the coffee was free. It tasted like shit, but at least he didn't have to pay for crappy coffee. He slipped a pill into his mouth and swallowed it down with the hot, bitter brew. He was glad Eames was going to be ok. As for Goren…he wasn't sure how he felt. Of course, he didn't want the big cop to die. Hell, he found himself wanting nothing more than to see both detectives—the MCS Golden Couple—sitting at their desks, solving the cases no one else wanted to touch.

Carolyn Barek slept fitfully. Her head throbbed, her hip ached…and she woke. The pain was still there. She looked at the clock…not time for another dose of percocet. Damn. She saw her partner standing by the fish tank. Rising, she limped over to him, touched his arm. He looked down at her. Neither of them knew the injured cops well, but the brotherhood of the badge kept them there. They also felt a need to stand by their captain. She let him slide his uninjured arm around her shoulders, and she rested her head against his chest. In silence, they watched the fish.

Exhausted, still bloody in spite of the fact he had removed his outer surgical garments, another surgeon stepped into the waiting room. There were no elective surgeries at this time of the day, so the waiting room was empty, except for three people. He'd been around long enough to recognize them as cops. He coughed

Deakins jumped to his feet and crossed the room, his face lined with worry. Logan and Barek moved to stand behind him. The surgeon let out a long breath. "I really hate nights like this. You are Captain Deakins?"

"Yes. How is he?"

"We're transferring him to intensive care. I wish I could tell you more. We found three bullets, and they did a lot of damage, but his heart remained uninjured by some miracle, and that is probably why he's still alive. His lungs are actually better than we first thought, but that isn't saying a lot. One of the bullets damaged his liver, and that's where a lot of his blood loss came from. So far he's had eleven units of blood, and he's getting another one now. If I were to hazard a guess at his prognosis," he sighed wearily. "If he lives, he will recover. All of his injuries should heal completely, and he should be able to return to work in time. How much time? I don't know. But it all depends on one big 'if,' Captain. If he lives."

They watched the doctor leave the room, and Deakins felt no better. He sighed heavily. "Go home, you two. Get some rest. You were both injured…so when you feel up to it, I'll see you back at work."

Logan frowned. "Who's going to work the case?"

"I'll find someone…"

"Like hell you will." He looked at the clock on the wall. "It's almost 6…damn, it's been a long night!" He shook his head. The shots had been fired just after 10. "Well, I'll see you after lunch."

Barek nodded in agreement with her partner. "See you then," she told the captain.

Deakins watched them cross the room, and Logan turned in the doorway. "If Goren and Eames aren't taking a case from us, no one is."


	3. Crime Scene Preliminaries

The normally bustling squadroom was extremely subdued when Logan arrived just past the lunch hour. He waved hello to the detectives who called to him, and headed to his desk, stopping by the empty desks that Goren and Eames normally occupied. He lifted a pen up off the paperwork on Eames' desk, where she had dropped it when they got the call. He slid it into the Santa mug that sat between the desks, where they kept their pens. Picking up a book from Goren's desk, he remembered the first time he'd met the brilliant detective and his partner, back when he was still on Staten Island and they'd been harassing his girlfriend. He turned the book in his hands and, looking at the binding, he smiled. _Case Studies in Abnormal Psychology_—same psychobabble crap he was always reading. He set the book down and continued to his desk, where he sifted through his inbox. Same stuff that had been there yesterday. Barek appeared at his side. He looked at her. "How are you doing?"

"I'm ok. You hear anything?"

"Not yet. Let's go see the boss."

Deakins looked up from his desk. "Come on in." He looked exhausted. "How are you feeling?"

Logan answered, "Sore, but ok."

Barek just nodded in agreement. "Have you heard anything?"

"Eames woke up about an hour ago. They said she's doing fine, whatever they mean by that. They are going to transfer her from intensive care this afternoon instead of waiting until tomorrow."

"That's good. They tell her about Goren?" Logan asked.

"Her parents told her he'd also been injured but that's it. They haven't let her see him yet."

"How is he?" Barek ventured.

"He's been keeping them busy. They still don't know."

For some reason, the conversation had Logan uncomfortable. "What do we know about the crime scene?"

"CSU are still at it, believe it or not. They are having trouble with the trajectory, since no one died at the scene. They have recovered half a dozen slugs so far and they have an estimated trajectory from the initial impact marks and ricochets. So far, they think it was one shooter, and it looks like he was on the roof of the Museum."

"The Museum? You gotta be kidding me."

"Do I look like I'm kidding? He had a lot of targets…and he hit a lot of them.Our current best guess is that we're looking for a cop-hater. Of course that doesn't narrow things down much."

Logan frowned. He didn't like being a target. "We need Goren so he can tell us where the shooter was, what he was thinking and where we can find him."

Deakins almost laughed. Sometimes it seemed like that was the case. "Officially, the case is ours. Unofficially, every cop in the city wants this bastard." Barek was frowning and shaking her head. "What?"

She shrugged. "How many shots do they estimate were fired?"

"About two dozen."

"The two cops who were killed—how many bullets did they take?"

"One took three and the other, two."

"Where were they?"

"They were near the body."

"And so were Goren and Eames. Together, they took four bullets. And Logan and I were right near them, too—that's three more. That's about half the total number of shots right there. I'd guess the others who were hit were in the same vicinity, weren't they?" Deakins nodded. "That's quite a cluster for a random shooting. There were cops all over the crime scene, not just by the body, but it looks like this guy was focusing on one group in one small area. You have to admit, even at a distance, Goren and Eames are hard to miss."

"You think they were being targeted?"

"Eames was the first one down, but Goren was right behind her, placing her in the line of fire if he was the target. If she was the target, he got in the way after he grabbed her. I don't think we should dismiss the possibility that the shooter was gunning for one or both of them."

Logan shook his head. "Remind me not to stand next to him any more."

"Shut up, Mike," Barek snapped.

Logan shrugged, trying to understand his partner's empathy. She wasn't upset that she got shot. She was upset at how badly hurt Goren and Eames were. Time to change the subject again. "They talk to that couple who found the body?"

"Yeah. They're clean. Honeymooners from Iowa."

"Geez…what a welcome."

"What do we know about the body?" Barek asked.

Deakins picked up a file and shook his head. "Woman, mid-thirties, blonde, Caucasian, no ID."

"ME have a cause of death?"

"Strangulation. Then he took a knife to her flank and sliced into her side. One of her kidneys is missing."

"A kidney?" Logan asked. "He strangled her, then butchered her to take her kidney…after she was already dead?" Deakins nodded. "So it wasn't for a transplant or anything…a souvenir?"

"It looks that way. And there was no blood at the scene, so she was cut up someplace else."

"Well, I know that's one head I _don't_ want to get into. They find any trace?"

"No. And the scene got a little trampled when the shots began."

Logan rubbed his shoulder. "No shit."

Deakins tossed the file onto his desk. "That's all I've got, kids. Take it and run."

As they walked toward the office door, Logan muttered, "Run? Run where?"

Barek replied, "From brick wall to brick wall."


	4. Visitors

Eames was sitting up in her bed, looking through a magazine her mother had given her, but not really seeing much of anything. Her mind was wandering, and it always wandered back to the same place. She looked up at a soft knock and a quiet "Hello?"

She managed a smile for her captain. "Hi, Captain."

"How are you feeling?"

"Better."

"Glad to hear it." He could sense her depression, and he knew the source. Softly, he said, "What have they told you?"

"Not much," she frowned.

"How much is not much?"

"They said there was a sniper, across Central Park West, that he was targeting cops. They told me I took one bullet in the chest, but it didn't do much damage. I got lucky. Two uniforms were killed, eight other cops injured."

"Anything else?" She shook her head. "Has anyone said anything about your partner?"

Tears began to roll down her cheeks. Bobby…every time she asked about him, people changed the subject. She shook her head. "No one will answer my questions, and now I'm afraid to ask. All anyone has told me is that he was hurt. For all I know he could have fallen and hit his head, but I don't think that's what happened."

Deakins sighed. "No, it's not. Logan and Barek were both hurt. They are ok, back on the job, and I've given them this case. They…told me what happened at the scene." He sighed again. Goren wasn't dead. Why was this so hard? Because they still didn't know if he _would_ live?

She was watching him closely. Five years, and she had an idea how to read him. There was something he felt he had to tell her but wasn't sure how to say it. "Just say it, Captain. I'm a big girl and I'm a cop. I've dealt with the worst that can happen." Well, that wasn't completely true. Losing her husband had been bad…at the time she thought nothing worse could ever happen. But she'd come to realize that was not quite true anymore.

Deakins sat on the edge of the bed, facing her. "When you got hit, Goren grabbed you as you fell." He hesitated for a moment. "He shielded you, Alex. You are alive because of what Bobby did."

Eames struggled with herself for a minute, choking back more tears. "Is…" she looked at the ceiling and finally forced out the rest of her question. "Is he going to be ok?"

"We don't know yet. He's in ICU."

"Damn it, Bobby," she mumbled before her tears got the better of her.

Logan and Barek stood in the doorway of Goren's cubicle in the ICU. Logan shuddered visibly seeing the big cop lying there, so still, with a machine breathing for him. Barek looked up at him. "You ok?"

He nodded. "It's just…surreal, seeing him lying there, like that. Anybody else, not so much, but him…" He stepped into the cubicle and she followed him. "He and I have had our…issues…but I never ever wanted to see him like this."

"No one does, Mike."

Logan walked to the bedside, noticed the sweat beaded on Goren's forehead. Looking around, he found a washcloth, ran it under the faucet by the bed, and handed it to his partner. She wiped the sweat from the senior detective's head. "Hey, big guy," Logan said. "It's Logan and Barek. We just stopped by to say hi. Uh, and I wanted you to know…Eames is ok. You did a damn good thing. But you know, if you die, you're gonna undo that. That being said, and I can't believe I'm saying this, we're getting stonewalled on this case. We need to catch this slimeball, and it looks like we're gonna need you to do it."

He turned and followed Barek from the cubicle. Waving a hand at the ICU nurse who'd let them in, he and his partner headed for the exit. "Are you feeling ok, Logan?"

"Fine. Why?"

"That was very sensitive of you back there. Very not you."

"Momentary lapse in my sanity. He does that to people."

"C'mon, Mike. 'Fess up."

"All right. I'm worried about Eames. Hell, you know that Goren and I don't particularly get along, but I've always liked Eames, and I do get along with her. For whatever reason, he's important to her." He pushed the 'up' button at the elevator. "I guess in the end, that's what matters. This has gotta be hard for her."

'D-r-e-s-s-a-g-e.' She circled the word on the grid. Word search…mindless entertainment, though she didn't feel every entertained. Bobby liked crosswords, from the Times usually. Others just didn't challenge him. He was good at logic puzzles, too, of course. A tear rolled down her cheek at the thought of her partner. Again. Eames looked up when Logan and Barek came into the room. She smiled weakly. "Hi, guys."

Barek returned her smile. "Hey, Alex. How are you feeling?"

"My body is feeling better. The rest of me feels…lost." She pushed the puzzle aside. "How are you guys doing?"

Logan waved his good hand dismissively. "My shoulder's still a little stiff. But really, it's just a scratch."

She looked at Barek. "And you?"

"I'm ok. Good thing we're working on this case. A clipped hip makes it hard to chase down perps. No suspects, no perp chasing."

"Slow going, huh?"

They nodded. "Right now it's grunt work, interviewing Museum staff, checking the vicinity for the murder scene. Needle in a haystack—any trace has gotta be long gone by now, but you never know. We could get lucky."

"I wish I could help more."

"Yeah," said Logan. "So do we. But the mind we need…" He stopped, catching himself too late and Barek smacked him. "Sorry, Eames."

Barek smiled sadly. "I'm going to take the incredible mouth here and we're going to go, before he upsets you any more."

"It's ok, Barek. He's just being…himself." She stopped for a minute, composing herself. "Have you…have you seen him?"

"Yeah, we have," she answered before her partner could. "We stopped on the way up."

"How does he look?"

Barek wasn't sure what to say. Before she could stop him, Logan said, "He looks…like he's sleeping. Doesn't look in any pain. His face looked…comfortable."

Eames looked at him, then at Barek. "Have they…said anything more?"

Barek shook her head. "Not that we know of."

"Thanks, guys."

Logan looked sympathetic. "You need anything, you call us, got it?"

She nodded. "Thanks, Mike. Too bad you can't bring me what I really need."

Barek nodded. "I wish we could, Alex."

"Get your rest," Logan said.

The partners left. In the hallway, Logan muttered, "Damn, that guy better recover."

"Or what, Mike? You'll kill him?"

"Very funny, Barek. Let's go get dinner and go over that crime scene report again."

"Ok. Your treat."


	5. An Act of Desperation

"Logan! Barek!"

The two detectives looked up from their desks, and Deakins waved them to his office. They walked into the office, and Logan asked "You bellowed, boss?"

"Two things. First, they found something on Central Park West. Get down there now."

"And the other thing?"

"Call from the hospital."

"Eames?"

"No. Goren took a turn for the worse." Logan looked away from the captain and Barek shook her head. "Now get out of here." He didn't want to talk about it. His day had started out badly, and it was getting worse.

Logan didn't say a word, which wasn't like him. He slid behind the steering wheel, started the engine and pulled away from the curb. Blocks slid by, one by one…then Barek sat up a little straighter. "This isn't the way to Central Park West."

"It is today."

"What the hell are you doing, Mike?"

"You'll see."

Thirty minutes later, she found herself following him through the corridors of the hospital. "Mike…"

He refused to answer her. They entered the ICU and walked to Goren's cubicle. Logan stood there studying him. He looked ok. He knew that Goren _wasn't_ ok but the fact that he _looked_ ok let him feel right for what he was about to do. "C'mon, Barek."

She followed him from the ICU to the elevators. He stabbed the 'up' button. "Mike, what are you doing?"

"This is called an act of desperation."

"What…?"

"Just come on."

She followed him off the elevator and down the hall. Stopping outside Eames' door, he straightened his tie and tried to relax. He walked into the room.

Eames winced as she adjusted herself in her bed. Geez, this was getting old. They got her up every three hours and made her walk the halls. She could feel herself recovering, even though it had only been three days. But they still would not take her down to see her partner. She felt angry and frustrated.

"Hey there, Eames. How are you feeling?"

She looked up, surprised to see Logan and Barek walk into the room. She looked at the clock…10 am. They should be working… "What are you guys doing here?"

"We were in the neighborhood. Just wanted to drop by and say hi." He looked around the room. "Say, have they let you go down to the ICU to see him?"

"No. Why?"

"Just wondering. Do you want to go?"

"Mike!"

He shushed his partner and looked at Eames. "Well?"

She frowned at Logan. "What's going on, Mike? What's wrong?"

"Truth?"

"Yes, of course. No one has been telling me anything." She tried to hide her desperation and worry. "Mike…"

He walked to the bed and said, "He needs you, Alex. He needs to hear your voice, to know you're ok. And I think you need to see him just as badly." His frustration bubbled to the surface. "Goddammit, Eames, if we don't take you down to see him, he's not gonna make it."

Neither detective missed the look of panic that filled her face. "Has he been awake?"

Logan looked at Barek before he answered, "No. He…he needs a machine to breathe for him. He's had a rough time, Alex, and it's not getting any easier for him. This isn't going to be easy for you, either. Prepare yourself."

She didn't have to give it a second thought. She had to see her partner. "Go find a wheelchair, Mike. Carolyn, help me get up."

They stopped in the doorway of the ICU cubicle. Eames slowly got to her feet with Logan's support. She patted his good arm where it encircled her shoulders and steadied her. "It's ok, Mike." He stepped away from her side, releasing his helping arm. She walked slowly toward the bed and stopped at her partner's bedside. "Oh, my God, Bobby. What the hell did you do?" She reached out and touched his face. She listened to the machine, breathing for him, wiping at a tear that escaped her eye. She leaned down, resting her head on his chest, listening to his heart. Her mind flew back to the last time he'd hugged her, a hug of comfort she'd really needed. She'd listened to his heart beat then, too;it still sounded strong. She didn't even try to stop the tears; she knew she couldn't. She rested an arm gently across his body, the closest she could come to a hug. Several minutes passed before she stood up. Wiping her tears, she said, "You listen to me, you big horse's ass. If you die on me, I will never forgive you. Do you hear me, Bobby?" Her voice broke and lost nearly all its volume. "I will never forgive you. You always worried about me leaving you. Well, you had better not leave me, mister. Got it?" She leaned down again and rested her cheek against his. "Come on, Goren. Don't let me down." Gently she kissed his cheek. "I've gotta get back to my room, before they come looking for me. I'll be back, though. I promise." She caressed his face. "I promise."

She walked slowly to the cubicle doorway, where Logan and Barek were waiting for her just outside the small room. She wiped more tears from her face and looked from one detective to the other. "Thank you," she said. She hugged Logan, holding him tight for a minute. "Thank you very much."

Logan let her hold him, resting his free hand against her hair. "Hey, it's not Major Case without Goren and Eames. It's just not right to keep you in the dark, and if this is what it's going to take for him to turn the corner…well…" He shrugged slightly.

"What do you mean, 'for him to turn the corner'?" she asked as he helped her back into her wheelchair.

"Well, we've been to see him, and Deakins comes by. Everyone has come by to see him but you. I am betting a month's pay that your voice is the one voice he's been wanting to hear, and not hearing it, he assumes the worst. Last time he saw you, you were dropping to the ground with a bullet in you."

She was silent as he pushed her back to her room. Logan waited outside as Barek helped her get back into her bed. "Come in here, Logan."

He walked back into the room. Eames looked at him. "Thank you, Mike. No one has been telling me anything. I want you to keep coming by and I am going to trust the two of you to let me know how he is doing. I want your word."

Logan nodded. "I have no problem promising that."

Eames looked at Barek. "I promise, too."

"We gotta run now. We kinda took a detour on our way to Central Park West."

"They find something?"

"Dunno yet. We'll let you know."

She watched them leave her room. Leaning back on her bed, she watched the ceiling, but all she saw was her partner…brought down by a sniper's bullet…needing a machine to breathe for him…and waiting…waiting for her to come to see him, to know she was ok. She wiped her tears again. 'Oh, Bobby…'


	6. Called on the Carpet

Logan walked around the rooftop, eyes searching the asphalt. He looked over the edge toward the park. Barek joined him. "I don't know how people can do things like this. I love Central Park.Crap like this gives the Park a bad image," she said.

"Yeah, well, there's lots of scum out there. Sometimes I wonder if we really make a difference."

"We have to believe we do, Mike. Otherwise, why bother? Come on over here and see what they've found."

They turned and walked over to where a CSU tech was collecting samples. There was a large puddle of dried blood near the door to the stairs leading from the roof. A trail of bloody footprints and large drops of blood led down the stairs.

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"So they're taking samples of the blood to the lab and we got pictures of the bloody prints," Deakins reviewed with the two detectives sitting in front of his desk. "And where does the trail go?"

"All the way down the stairs and out into the alley. We found more blood in the alley, but the trail abruptly stops," Barek replied.

Logan frowned distastefully. "Looks like the perp butchered her on the roof, then dragged her down to the alley. He wrapped her in a tarp or a sheet or something. We're now dumpster diving to find the discarded wrap. Captain, I wasn't kidding when I said I'm not going crawling into this bastard's head."

"I don't expect you to, Mike. We recovered two casings from the roof of the museum. They match the slugs we recovered at the scene."

"And the ones recovered from our cops?"

Deakins nodded. "All of you."

Barek said, "We did a search for anything matching this guy's MO. We came up empty."

"Of course. Ok, keep me informed." They got as far as the doorway when he said, "I do have one more question for you two. Why did it take you over an hour and a half to get from here to Central Park West?"

They looked at each other briefly before Logan answered "Traffic."

"Try again."

"If you know something, Captain…"

"I know you were seen down at the hospital with Eames."

Logan frowned, but he still believed what they had done was for the best. "Damn. Look, Captain, no one was telling her anything about Goren. That's just not right. She needed to see him, and he needed her to be there. So we took her down to the ICU."

"What were you thinking? She has been traumatized enough…"

"Right…and not seeing him was traumatizing her even more. I stand by what we did, Captain."

"So do I," Barek supported him. "They both needed it."

"What you did…" Deakins started, then shook his head. "I can't do it. I can't be mad at you. But I do want you to know that what you did could have done more harm than good. Those doctors know what they're doing."

"We know they do. But they don't know Goren and Eames."

Deakins suppressed a smile. "Neither do you two."

Logan frowned at him. "We know them well enough to know that keeping them apart was the wrong thing to do."

"Luckily for you, you were right. They called from the ICU, told me you'd been there. They told me you'd brought her down to see him. And they told me he stabilized about an hour ago."

The detectives looked at one another. "Don't gloat, Mike," she warned.

"Now I want you to tell me why, Logan."

"Why what?"

"Why did you do it? The truth, Mike. It's no secret that you don't care much for Goren."

Logan looked off toward the empty desks that Goren and Eames usually occupied. "I haven't been here at Major Case very long. But you got me the hell off Staten Island, and I am actually getting to like being here. You know I didn't hit it off with them the first time we met. I don't like playing second string to anybody, but I can see how Goren and Eames are the best at what they do. Yeah, Goren can be difficult. I don't even pretend to understand him. But Eames does understand him. It's just not the same around here with them gone. When you told us this morning that he'd taken a turn for the worse, I wondered if they had let her see him. I guessed that if anyone had told her how he was really doing, no one could have kept her away from him. And I thought…the last thing he knew, she'd been shot. And if no one let her see him…hell, I know what I'd think."

"He's in a coma, Mike. He's not thinking about much of anything."

"When I was a teenager I had a friend who was in a car accident. He was in a coma for six weeks. When he came out of it, he told me things that I had told him during that time. He was aware of who was around him, and he heard what they told him. So Goren's heard all of us there...all of us but Eames. Captain, I can't say for certain whether I would take even one bullet for my partner. Maybe I would, in the right situation. Would she do it for me? Same answer. But ever since I came here, if anyone had ever asked me if he would do that for her, I'd have said 'hell, yeah.' I'm not an idiot, Captain. They have a connection I have never seen between partners before. And it works. I've heard all the rumors. I know what folks think about him…about them. No one knows how she can work with him. I ran into one of his old partners a few weeks ago. Three and a half months, he lasted. Said Goren was too…intense…yeah, that's a word I often hear about him. Intense. He said Eames would have to be just as off-balance to stick with him for five years. Well, I don't agree with that. I _do_ agree that he's intense, but he settles down when she's around. Somehow she makes it easier to be around him." He sighed, realizing he'd been rambling. He looked at Barek, then at Deakins. "If Goren dies, none of us can predict what it would do to her. I just don't want to have to pick up the pieces. I don't think any of us do."

Barek grinned. "When did you develop insight, Logan?"

Deakins shook his head. "Ok, give yourself a pat on the back and go do your paperwork. I'm leaving early. I need to go and see how she is."

"Tell her we said hi."


	7. Bedside Vigil

**A/N: Thanks so much for the reviews. I'm glad you're enjoying this. Encouragement makes a writer happy to keep on writing.**

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Deakins walked into her room to find it empty. He really wasn't surprised. He should have gone to the ICU first. So that's where he went.

He waved at the unit secretary as she smiled and waved from her desk at the far side of the nurse's station. He stood in the doorway of the ICU cubicle and just watched. Eames was sitting in a chair beside Goren's bed, fully turned toward him so she could see his face. She had a book laid in her lap, and she was reading to him. His heart was warmed by the sight while at the same time it hurt, knowing the pain this had caused them both. These partners were devoted to one another, and that, he knew, was a very good thing. This ordeal had tested the depth of that devotion, and it had survived. "Alex?" he said softly.

She turned. "Hi, Captain."

He stepped into the cubicle. "How's he doing?"

"They told me he's better, that he's stable now. My doctors said I could hang out here as long as I feel up to it. They want me to come upstairs to check in every few hours—my mandatory traveling time. I feel better being here, and I…I don't want Bobby to feel abandoned, or lonely."

"What are you reading?"

She grinned. "I stopped by the hospital library and picked this up. It's called _Criminal Psychology_.""

The captain nodded. "That sounds like something he'd like."

"Yeah, well, he's lucky I'm still awake."

Deakins laughed. He studied Goren's face. "He does look better. When I was here last night, he wasn't doing well." He sighed. "Logan may be a loose canon, but he was on the mark today. The best thing anyone could have done, it seems, was to bring you here to see him. And who thought of it? Mike Logan. That embarrasses me…_I_ should have known. I'm sorry I didn't think of it."

She shrugged. "It's ok, Captain. They say they won't know for sure he's going to be all right until he wakes up, but…" She looked toward her partner. "I think he'll be ok."

"What makes you say that?"

"I told him he'd better."

Deakins laughed again. "That works for me, Alex."

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Eames sat quietly in a chair beside her partner's bed. In her lap was the most recent issue of Smithsonian Magazine. She took a drink of water. The only sounds in the cubicle were the quiet rasp of the respirator that still breathed for him and the beeping of the monitor over his bed that told her only that his heart was still beating.

She had been released from the hospital two and a half days ago, and every day she sat in this chair at her partner's side. Everyone he had ever cared about in his life had left him. She refused to do that to him. Hell, it was because she had not been there following the shooting that he'd nearly died last week. She left at night, to go home to her empty apartment to shower and sleep, only to hurry back to his side the next morning and find nothing had changed.

She watched the doctor confer with the woman beside him. She wore blue scrubs and spoke in hushed tones. She adjusted the respirator. Was he recovering? Eames was afraid to ask, but she knew she had to. She was used to thinking of Goren as untouchable, a human tank. But that big, intimidating body of his protected a sensitive heart, a damaged soul, both of which he hid from the world and desperately protected from further harm. The woman in blue left the room and the doctor turned from the machine, looking at her with that look. Oh, how she hated that look! She hesitated only the briefest second before she asked the one question whose answer she feared. "How is he?"

The doctor smiled with his mouth, but there was no smile, not even a hint of it, in his eyes. "He still needs help to breathe. He's not doing it all on his own."

"And what does that mean?"

"It just means he needs more time to heal and we still have to help him."

"How much longer are you going to help him?"

"As long as he needs us to."

"So you still think he is going to be ok?"

"His body _is_ healing, Detective. He has retreated from the pain, but he'll be back."

She just nodded. She understood that. Bobby often retreated from his pain. She saw it every week, after he visited his mother. She saw it during and after those tough cases…the cases that inflicted psychological pain on victims…the cases that left innocence slaughtered. Above all else, Bobby understood psychological pain. He knew exactly what it was like to have your innocence slaughtered. It was worse than finding out Santa did not exist before you were ready. Hell, on some level, she would not be surprised if he did still believe in Santa. You could never predict what myths he held onto, held onto for dear life, because everything that was supposed to be there, to support you and keep you safe in an unsafe world, had been destroyed like porcelain in an earthquake when his mother's mind had separated from reality and left him alone. His brother dealt with the loss by retreating from it into a world of addiction and stepping out of his little brother's life. Bobby dealt with it by withdrawing and not letting anyone in, by keeping his heart wrapped in too many layers of bubble wrap. What he had yet to realize was that his partner had successfully breached that bubble wrap. Without even knowing it, Alex had found her way into his well-protected heart.


	8. Another Shooting

Eames had drifted off, as she tended to do in the late afternoon. It had been more than a week since the shooting, and her injuries were healing well. She had recovered quickly. She felt a hand brush the hair off her forehead, and she opened her eyes. Mike Logan grinned at her. "Hey, Eames. This a bad time?"

She rubbed her eyes and sat up straighter, smiling at the two detectives. "Hi, Mike, Carolyn. Is there such a thing as a good time here?" She studied Logan…something was different. "Where's your sling, Mike?"

"I got tired of the damn thing."

Barek shook her head. "He wasn't using it anyway, unless Deakins was around."

Eames understood that. She didn't know a cop that liked to be restricted in any way. "How's the case going?"

"First things first," Logan said as he helped her turn her chair to face them. He let his partner have the other chair and he leaned against it. "It's good to see that smile. How are you doing?"

She leaned back, stretching the kinks out of her back with a small wince. The pain was mostly gone and she could once again cough, laugh and take deep breaths without that searing pain. "I'm ok. It still hurts, but it's getting better. I got lucky that the bullet did so little damage."

Logan nodded and looked at Goren. To his eyes, he still didn't look any better. "You got even luckier that you have him for a partner."

"That's not luck, Mike. I'm glad to have him as my partner."

"How's Goren doing?" Barek asked.

"They say he's improving. Now what's going on with the case?"

Logan said, "I'll tear this bastard apart with my bare hands when we catch him."

"See what I have to deal with?" Barek nodded at her partner. "A loose cannon, fully loaded and gunning for this perp."

Logan frowned. "He struck again, Eames. From another friggin' museum. And again, he vanished into thin air. We found two casings, and that's it. They match the ones we found from the other shooting. He's toying with us." His eyes darted toward Goren. What he didn't tell her was that there had been another body…female, mid-30s, strangled with her kidney removed post-mortem.

"Which museum?"

"The Met."

"How many officers were hit this time?"

"Four. One died."

"And we've got nothing?"

"Pretty much. They've put out orders for everyone to wear armor." He tapped his fingers against the bulletproof vest under his shirt. "Today we interviewed half the museum staff. Tomorrow we get the other half. After talking to all the staff at the natural history museum, this is _really_ getting tedious. I'm not into spending my days trying to extract information from geeks who only want to talk about bones and bugs."

"Oh, come on, Mike. They're not all like that."

"That's true. The geeks I talked to today were all into Da Vinci and Dali."

Eames smiled, glad for once not to be involved with the interviews…although Bobby would have loved it. He would fit right in with the more cerebral museum culture. "Anybody look good?"

Logan grinned. "You should know me by now, Eames. Lots of 'em _look_ good…"

Barek nudged him. "Don't be a pig, Mike."

He chuckled. "So far everyone is squeaky clean. Maybe tomorrow will be better." He looked back at Goren. "He gonna wake up any time soon?"

"I don't know, Mike. The doctors keep telling me he'll be okay, but he still needs help to breathe and time to heal. 'It's only been a week' they keep telling me. And I remind them it's been twelve days."

Barek looked sympathetic. "He was hurt badly, Eames."

"I know." She looked at her partner, laid a hand on his arm. "I know."

Logan laid a hand on his stomach as it rumbled audibly. "We skipped lunch," he explained. "It's been a really long day. We'd better be going."

"Thanks for coming by. Keep me up on the case, will you?"

Barek nodded as she stood up. "We will. You take it easy."

She smiled and waved as the two detectives walked out of the cubicle and left the ICU.

She really did want to be out there chasing down the son of a bitch who had done this to her partner. But she needed to be here even more, by his side, making sure he was still ok. She hated feeling powerless…and that was exactly how she felt when she wasn't right there, listening to the infernal beep of the monitor and the rasp of the respirator. Never in a million years would she have thought a partner, any partner, could come to be so much a part of who she was. When she'd been assigned as his partner, that possibility had seemed even more remote. She'd heard the stories of his eccentricities, his instability. Bobby Goren was a legend among police officers. Everyone feared the legend. And cops often hated what they feared, what they could not understand. No one understood Bobby. No one but her. Even Deakins didn't understand him. The captain respected him, though, and liked him. He trusted Bobby's instinct. But he didn't understand him; he didn't understand them. The difference was…Deakins knew that as a team, they worked. He was proud of his best team. Their solve rate was the highest in the department, so he didn't care how odd Goren seemed or what an odd couple they were. He just knew that Goren and Eames _worked_, for whatever reason. And if something ain't broke, you don't fix it.


	9. Reassurance

The days ran together, indistinguishable from one another. Every morning she came to the hospital to sit by her partner. Every night she went home and ate the dinner her sister left in the fridge with a note that always said she should come by and stay with them while she recovered. It was a nice gesture, but she just didn't realize that Alex could not--would not--leave her partner. She loved to play with her nephew, the baby she'd carried inside her for nine months, only to give him up to her sister when he was born. But Goren really needed her, and as much as she loved her family, her partner was more to her. On some level, they understood that. They acknowledged him as an extension of her. They understood partners as only a cop family can. Your partner was the most important person in your life, more than family, more than friend. Every day, your life was placed in your partner's hands. He had your back, every single day. And she could not help but feel that she had dropped the ball; she had failed to watch his back. This was somehow her fault. She had done the unthinkable. She'd let her partner down.

Her mind, again, returned to the park. It had been more than two weeks, but it still sprang into her mind as though it had been yesterday. She remembered getting shot. She would never forget the raw emotion that had been in his voice when he'd yelled her name. There was so much that just wasn't there in her memory, though. How Logan and Barek had both been hit. How her partner had seen her take a hit before he could do a thing to protect her. How he'd placed himself between her and the bullets that kept coming. How he had saved her life. Logan had told her that there had been some trouble, that when they'd put him in the ambulance at the scene, he'd been breathing. Somewhere between here and there, he'd stopped. Pneumothorax, they'd explained. And something about a chest tube, to drain the blood and air from his chest cavity. But what had scared her most was when Deakins had sat with her, along with Barek and Logan, and gently explained what had really happened in the ambulance. He'd done more than stop breathing. They'd lost him. The fact that they had gotten him back right away didn't register for a minute. She had never felt such terror in her life.

The doctors now told her that he was resting, healing. They no longer wore those worried looks she'd come to hate. Now they were just biding time while he healed. He'd started to wake, but they weren't ready yet. They said he still needed a little more time. So they kept him sedated, made him stay asleep. She was angry at them for that. She wanted to see those warm, dark eyes looking at her. She needed to hear that gentle, quiet voice. But she trusted them to know what they were doing. So she just sat by his bed and read to him.

Last night before she went home, she'd watched as they had removed the tube from the side of his broad chest. The nurse had promised her that was a good thing, that he didn't need it anymore. But she was still frightened. After all, they'd not been able to save her husband. And no one in her life meant more to her than he had…no one…except Bobby. She was surprised to realize how much her big, quirky partner really meant to her, how deeply within her heart he dwelled. And it was somehow comforting as well. She'd made them promise to call if anything changed after she left. To her great relief, they had not called, and when she'd arrived that morning, he was still ok.

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She watched the doctor as he examined Bobby and then turned to study that damn machine that lived on the other side of his bed. She had no desire to understand it, as long as it did what it was supposed to do. But today was different than the days that had come before. The doctor pulled up a chair, sat before her with that serious doctor look on his face. Quietly, he told her they were going to take him off the respirator. Her heart leaped into her throat; panic, like bile, climbed up into her mouth. This doctor was good, though. He read the panic in her face and quickly reassured her. "He's all right, Detective. He's no longer letting the machine do all the work."

"Yesterday you said he wasn't ready to come off the machine yet. Did I miss something?"

The doctor smiled. He leaned back in his chair, away from her, back from the intimate position of 'heads together and we'll figure this out.' She wasn't going to figure out anything. There was only one person she wanted to put her head together with to figure something out, and it wasn't the doctor. He said, "You saw that we took out his chest tube last night. We took an x-ray after you left, and it looked very good. His lungs have healed and they are no longer leaking air into his chest cavity. All the bleeding has long stopped and his injuries are healing very nicely. His liver functions have been improving which means his liver hasn't sustained any permanent damage. He's no longer in a coma, detective, and that's the best thing we could have hoped for. He's letting the machine work less and less for him. When we first hooked him up to it, he was letting it do all the work. Over the course of every minute, he would take one breath, maybe. The machine did all the rest. Now, he's doing all the work. He's fighting the machine, not letting it work for him any more. So we're going to turn it off this afternoon and take out the tube. We'll stop the sedatives and let him wake up. If all goes as planned, we'll be able to move him upstairs sometime tomorrow or the next day. Once we take him off the respirator and he wakes up, he'll no longer need intensive care."

"So he's going to recover?"

There was that smile again. "Yes, detective. He is going to recover fully. He's a fighter."

He left the cubicle and she got up and moved to her partner's side. She lightly fingered the hair at his temple. He was going to recover; he would still be her partner. For the first time since she'd woken after being shot, she could take a breath and not feel that rock in the pit of her gut. He really was going to be ok.


	10. Waking Up

She had moved to the doorway when they came in to remove the breathing tube. It hadn't been bloody or anything, but she hadn't been prepared for it, and it unsettled her. They had stopped the sedatives running through his IV a few hours earlier, but waited before extubating him until most of the drugs were out of his system. She watched his chest rise and fall, rhythmically, noticeably, and all on its own. It was odd not hearing the Darth Vader-like rasp of the respirator filling the room. But as much as she'd hated the damn thing, she never resented its being there. After all, hadn't it been breathing for him? Hadn't it given him a break from the work of living and let him heal, so he could go on living? It had saved her from the heartbreak of burying her partner. That would have been a blow from which she'd never have recovered. No, she couldn't lose him…any more than he could bear losing her.

Now the doctor and a nurse stood on either side of his bed, waiting. She stayed by the door, not sure what to do, until the nurse called her over. "Stand here by me, detective. If your devotion is any indication, I think he will want to see you when he comes out of it."

She smiled her appreciation. "How long will it take for him to wake up?"

"He started coming out of it about thirty minutes ago. Give him time; he's been through a lot."

So she waited with them. He would groan and begin to toss, then settle down. "Is he in pain?"

The doctor nodded. "Probably. But I don't want to give him anything until I know his respiratory status will remain stable. The pain will help him come around."

"I don't want him to be in pain."

"Neither do we. But for now, his pain will work for his benefit. We want him to wake up." He started to groan again, but this time he didn't fade out right away. "Talk to him, detective."

She slid her hand into his. "Bobby? Hey, Bobby…come on, wake up." He tossed his head from left to right, shifted his hips. "Come on, Goren. We got work to do."

She watched his eyelids flutter. Slowly, they retreated, and his eyes, those beautiful dark eyes that hid so much from the world around him, came out of hiding. He swallowed hard, looked around the room. Slowly, his eyes came to rest on her. "Eames?" Never had her name sounded so good! His voice was hoarse, quiet, but he was there.

"Hey there, sleepy head. Where you been?" she teased. He smiled at her and she wanted to hug him. "You big ape, you scared the hell out of me."

"Are you ok?"

"Yes…thanks to you, they tell me."

He didn't care about that. All he cared about was that she was ok. "You sure you're ok?"

"Yes, Bobby. I'm ok. Are you in pain?"

"Yes."

She looked at the doctor, who was listening to his chest. He nodded, giving medication and care orders to the nurse. Then he turned to Bobby. "Welcome back, detective."

The doctor left the room, but not before giving her a reassuring smile. She turned her attention back to her partner. He just watched her through half-closed eyes. Gently, she laid a hand on his cheek, reassuringly scruffy. She had watched the nurses shave him every morning, but it didn't seem to matter. Bobby always had a five-o'clock shadow on his face. His eyelids grew heavier. She'd once watched him lift a table and send it across a room, where it shattered when it hit the wall. She'd once seen him subdue a violent and angry two hundred and ninety pound suspect and hold the man against a wall while the uniforms cuffed him. Her powerhouse of a partner was now incapable of even holding up his own eyelids. He slid back to sleep.

She watched him sleep for a few minutes but his sleep was restless; he groaned and tossed as pain bit through his sleep. The nurse returned and injected some medicine into his IV. She watched the monitors and then his face. Smiling at Eames, she said "He should rest easy now."

"Thanks," she grinned back.

She sat down and leaned into the stuffed back of the chair. Thinking back, she tried to replay the first few conversations she'd had with the doctors in her mind, but she didn't really remember them. All she remembered was that they had not come to her and said "I'm sorry…"

She'd once thought waiting for her husband to come out of surgery had been the worst time of her life. And then they had come out and said "I'm sorry…" Those two words had coursed through her mind, burning their way indelibly into her consciousness, over and over, as she waited for word that Bobby was ok. And the word never came…until Logan and Barek had come to take her to see him. Walking to his bedside, she'd had flashbacks of another hospital, another shooting, and the words "I'm sorry…"

But those words had never crossed a doctor's lips. Not this time. No. No one had said those dreaded words, the worst words in the English language. They'd never once led her to believe he wouldn't be ok. "Badly hurt…" Those words made her shudder, but they were infinitely better than "I'm sorry." Even the dreaded "We're doing all we can" had not gripped her heart the way "I'm sorry" did. No…no one was sorry. They had done all they could, and they had saved her partner's life.

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"Eames?"

She started awake. Had someone called her name? "Hey, sleepy head," he called softly, teasing her as she had teased him earlier.

She looked over at the bed. He was awake, lying on his side with his arm tucked under the pillow, and he was watching her. She frowned at him. "Just how long have you been watching me?"

"I don't know. A half hour, maybe. You're sleeping…in a chair?" His voice was still hoarse, but his eyes were bright, alert.

"It's not as uncomfortable as it looks." She stretched and stood up. "What'd you wake me for?" she grumbled. He knew she did not wake cheerfully.

"I got bored." There was that boyish grin she loved so much.

"You got bored?" She tried to sound annoyed, but he knew her too well. "That damn chair there has the imprint of my ass in it, Goren."

"I'm sorry."

Those two words quenched the smile from her eyes. "Don't, Bobby. Don't apologize. Please."

"What do you want me to say?"

"Anything but that."

He frowned. "What's wrong?"

"It's nothing. We'll talk about it later." She touched his arm reassuringly and looked around. She picked up the Smithsonian. "Deakins brought this by for you. I tried reading it to you, but…how the hell do you read this crap?"

He laughed, then winced as pain shot through his chest. "That's cruel, Eames. Don't make me laugh."

Her face relaxed into a smile. Her partner was back. Reaching out, she lightly touched a bruise that was healing near his temple, where his head had hit the pavement. He closed his eyes as her fingers gently traced the area of fading discoloration. Her fingers slid down the side of his face before she let her hand fall away, and he opened his eyes. He frowned at the tears he saw in her eyes. "Eames…"

She shushed him by placing her fingers on his lips. "I'll have to get you some other magazines" she told him. "Then you won't get so bored."

He reached up and touched her fingers. "Are you sure you're ok?"

His brilliant mind was always at work. Even when he slept, those wheels continued to churn. It was a flawlessly functional machine, and she could see in his eyes that it was working again. "Yeah, Bobby. I'm fine. You want Discover or People?" she teased.

"Tell you what: get both. Then I can read Discover and you can read People."

They were partners. He never excluded her. "Ok, Goren. That's what I'll do."

Reassured by her smile, he rolled carefully onto his back and laid his head against the pillow. The conversation had taken its toll on him. But he was content to know that his partner was safe and seemed to be healing well. He didn't fight it when his fatigue sent him back to sleep.

She watched him sleep, the easy rise and fall of his chest comforting to her. It wasn't the time to discuss what was troubling her. That could wait, until he was stronger. While he slept, she left to get the magazines she'd promised him.


	11. Worries

He woke during the night. It was quiet in the cubicle. The monitor above his bed beeped with his heart. That was annoying. He shifted his position, groaning when pain flared everywhere. That was annoying, too. Beside his bed, his partner slept in a chair. Now what was she doing that for? Why didn't she go home, to sleep in her bed, where it was comfortable? He moved again, trying to find a position that would give him relief from the pain. He couldn't find one. Damn.

A nurse came into the room, alerted by his movements. She smiled at him. "How are you feeling, detective?" she asked.

He shrugged. More pain. "I've been better," he managed around the pain.

She set down the syringe she held in her hand and pulled an alcohol pad from the pocket of her shirt. She cleaned the medicine port of his IV and injected the medicine. "That will help. Try to go back to sleep."

"Thanks. Uh, my partner there…has she…?"

The nurse nodded. "She's been here for almost two weeks, talking to you, reading to you…just being here with you. She usually goes home at night, but she wanted to stay nearby tonight, and the doctor said to let her."

"Her…injuries?"

"She has healed well, and quickly."

"Do you know where…she was hit?"

She nodded. "In the chest. But the damage was minimal. She got very lucky."

'No,' he thought. 'I'm the lucky one.' To the nurse, he simply said "Thanks."

He carefully turned onto his side as the medicine began to work and the pain retreated. It was still there…just not so overwhelming. Resting his head against the pillow, he watched his partner sleep until he drifted off again.

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Eames came back to the ICU after eating a late lunch, pleasantly surprised to find him awake. They were planning to move him after dinner, just 36 hours after he'd woken. He was doing very well, they told her. He still slept much of the time, but they assured her it was normal. He was healing, and sleep was the best way to give the body the time and the rest it needed to heal. She had been pointedly avoiding any discussion of the event that had brought him here. Wasn't it bad enough that she returned to the park every time she closed her eyes to sleep?

She slid lightly into her chair beside his bed, but she was troubled. He studied her with those intense, penetrating eyes. Why did he have to be so damn good at reading her? She could tell he was interpreting her face—him and his damn micro-expressions—her movements, even her breathing pattern…She frowned at him. "What?"

"Something's bothering you."

She averted her eyes, picking up her magazine from the bed. "Go back to sleep, Bobby."

"Look at me." She looked at him through her hair. He reached toward her and gently brushed her hair out of her face. As endearing as it was to see her watching him through her hair, he wanted to see her face right now…her entire face. "What is it, Eames?" He continued to study her. "Alex?"

That did it. He'd used her first name. Damn him! She turned away again, fighting the tears that choked her and threatened to overwhelm her. Too late. He'd seen her eyes well up. He could read a face as readily as a printed page. Sometimes she hated that about him, especially when it was her face he was reading and she didn't want him to. "You're…upset, Alex. Why?"

Why? Had he just asked her why? She felt her tenuous hold on her emotions snap. She turned back toward him, her face now telling him she couldn't believe what he had just said. "Why?" she repeated. "What's _wrong_ with you, Bobby? Where the hell are we?"

He looked honestly puzzled. "You're upset over me?"

The incredulity had not left her face. Her voice, though quiet because of their surroundings, was nevertheless angry and intense. "Damn you, Bobby! This is the intensive care unit, not Disneyland! You can't be serious…"

But he was, and she knew it. He was the one who worried about her. He never got it that she worried about him, too. It just didn't occur to him that anyone really worried about him. She shook with the effort to not lash out at him. She didn't want to be mad at him, not here, not now. She had to leave for awhile, before she started screaming. So she left the cubicle without saying another word for fear of what she might say, leaving him to wonder just what he'd done wrong and why she was so upset.

He leaned back in the bed, folding his arms behind his head, a deep frown on his face. His fiery little partner often sent him reeling. Now what had he done to upset her? He let his mind replay the conversation. All he'd done was ask what was wrong. Was that the wrong thing to do? And if so, why was it wrong? He went through the exercise of trading places with her, of putting her in this bed, and him in the chair beside it…and the horror and fear that accompanied that image hit him like a ton of bricks, knocking the breath out of him. Was he really that insensitive…or was he hiding again, denying what he knew and what he saw to protect himself from…from what? From his partner? No…not from _her_…from…_loving_ her. To love was to risk pain, to risk loss…and that was a risk he didn't want to take. But did he have a choice? Did she leave him any choice? He always thought that people chose to fall in love, and that was never a choice he would make. He had never chosen to love anyone. Of course he loved his mother, but the pain that came tied in with that love was enough to scare him off loving anyone else. Was it possible to come to love someone and not even realize it? It had to be, he admitted, because like it or not, he did love his partner. That was his last conscious thought as he drifted off.

He woke briefly when they transferred him from Intensive Care but he retreated quickly back into sleep. Eames was not there. What had he done?


	12. Revisiting the Park

He woke slowly, unwillingly. To wake was to think, and to think was to remember, and to remember, ultimately, was to hurt. But it was time to wake up. The physical pain he felt throughout his body didn't bother him. That pain, he knew, would go away. Slowly, he forced his eyes open. "Have a good nap?"

He looked at his partner. There was no trace of anger or upset on her face. "Where'd you go?"

"Home. I showered and put on clean clothes."

"Eames, I…I'm sorry. I was…insensitive…I…"

She laid a hand on his lips. "I told you not to apologize to me. It's ok, Bobby. You were being, well, you. I was tired and cranky. I'm sorry I snapped at you. It's been a long two weeks."

"Are you sure that's all it was?"

"Don't beat a dead horse, Goren. It's fine." She leaned down and rummaged through a gym bag on the floor beside the bed. She pulled out a book and two magazines, handing them to him. "Here. I stopped and picked you up some reading."

The book was entitled Forensic Entymology, and the magazines were Scientific American and Logic Puzzles. She knew him well. "Thanks, Eames," he said with a smile.

She sat down and studied his face. She could see pain and deep fatigue. He leafed through the Scientific American, but she saw his eyes start to close. She reached over and slid the magazine off his lap. "Go to sleep, Goren."

For once, he didn't argue with her.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The room was dark, except for a small light over his bed. She was sitting in the chair by his bed. Deakins had come by about an hour ago, relieved that Goren was no longer in the ICU. His team was intact and he'd be getting them back. That took a load off his mind. She was reading a book Deakins had brought for her. Her one guilty secret: a romance novel. The captain knew her well. After five years, he should. She dealt with death and blood every day. It was nice to escape into a fluffy, non-existent world once in awhile. Bobby still teased her for her choice of reading material. She certainly was not as cerebral as her big partner. She didn't try to be. _The Mating Patterns of Primitive Tribes in Papua New Guinea _just failed to grab her attention. Their ideas of romantic reading were very different.

She looked up when he groaned. Pain had woken him. She set her book aside and stood beside the bed. "Bobby? Do you need the nurse?"

He shook his head. "No. I'm ok."

She watched him shift in the bed, saw the pain flare like fire in his eyes, and she got the nurse anyway. She took his blood pressure, listened to his heart and lungs. "Deep breath." He tried, groaning at the pain that seared through his chest as it expanded. She gently patted his arm. "It's ok, detective. Your lungs were damaged by the bullets and one of your ribs was fractured. It'll be painful for awhile, but you need to breathe as deeply as you can, as often as you can. We need to make sure your lungs stay open."

She pulled a syringe out of the large pocket in the front of her shirt and injected the medicine into his IV. "This will help. Tomorrow we're going to try getting you out of bed. Being hurt is no longer an excuse for malingering." He raised his eyebrows at that pronouncement. She just smiled. "Don't worry. I'll give you pain medicine before we start. It won't be so bad. Once we know your gut has recovered from all the trauma your body has been subjected to and you're eating well, we'll switch you to oral medicine and remove the IV. That's the next major step to getting you out of here."

She slipped the syringe into a red container on the wall and said, "Your dinner was sent to the wrong floor, so it's going to be a little while before the kitchen gets another tray up here. You're still on a clear liquid diet, detective. No cheating." She looked at Eames. "Would you like me to order you a tray?"

"No thanks. I'll get something to eat later."

The nurse nodded and left the room. Eames turned to her partner, watching him closely. He leaned his head back against the pillows. "You ok, Bobby?"

"Fine. Just…dizzy."

She rested her hands on his arm, watching him closely. His eyes were closed, but she could tell from his breathing that he had not gone back to sleep. He opened one eye and looked at her. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I was just…watching you."

"Why?"

"Because you're alive, Bobby, and I can."

He took a deep breath, winced, then coughed and doubled over. The pain subsided slowly. She laid a hand on his back, leaned over to rest her head against his and just held him. She knew how much it hurt to cough, but she also knew it was something his lungs needed to do to clear the gunk that had built up over the last two weeks. Slowly, he eased himself upright. "Remind me not to do that again."

She laughed softly. "I know it hurts, but they told me it was important to cough to clear the lungs."

"Great." He leaned back slowly, then turned his eyes back toward her. "Talk to me, Eames."

"About what?"

He knew her too well. He'd have to ease her into the subject he wanted to discuss. He coughed again, much more shallowly. It didn't hurt as badly, but he still had to wait for the pain to subside before he could talk again. "Tell me what's going on with the case."

"According to Logan and Barek, not much. They found some casings, but they haven't led to anything." "

He shook his head. "I want to go back to the park and look around."

"There's not much to see. They didn't find many stray slugs and all the…blood," she almost choked on the word, knowing some of the blood has been his. "…will be gone."

"I just want to look around. How many of us were hit?"

"A dozen…more than half the number of cops who were there."

"Fatalities?"

"Two." She watched the pensive look on his face. "There was a second shooting in the park, Bobby, across from another museum. They're questioning museum staff, but so far, nothing. They have more casings off the museum roof, but again, it hasn't gone anywhere."

"Any fatalities from the second shooting?"

She nodded. "One. What do you think you're going to find, looking around a scene or two at least several weeks cold and no longer secure?"

He shrugged. "I'll know it when I see it."

That was true. He always went to a scene open-minded and let the scene speak to him. Some investigators twisted the scene to tell them what they wanted it to. Bobby never forced a scene. He looked, touched, smelled, sometimes even tasted, and he let the scene tell him its story. He listened to the bodies, the clues…and he heard what they had to say.

"So when are we going to talk about what happened in the park?" he ventured.

His question surprised her. "We just did."

"That was cop talk. I mean when are _we_ going to discuss it? You have been sitting by my bed this whole time, haven't you?" She just nodded. "Why?"

"I…" She stopped. What was she going to tell him? That she couldn't function without him, that she needed him, that she had been terrified every time she left his bedside—terrified she would come back and hear those dreaded words 'I'm sorry.' "Never mind," she decided. "Unless you want me to leave…"

"I never said that. I'm glad you're here." Why had he told her that? Did he want her to know how much he needed her? It must be the drugs…

But she didn't reply. She had simply accepted what he'd said, though another lump had formed in her throat. Why did she jump to the verge of tears so readily? She looked down at her hands, careful to keep her face averted from those probing eyes, eyes she knew were trained on her at that moment, carefully watching, cataloguing, interpreting everything she did. "What do you remember, Bobby?" she asked when she was sure she could keep her voice strong and steady. She didn't want to get into a discussion of why her voice was filled with so much emotion she couldn't keep it stable.

He wondered why she was retreating from him. But his head was still spinning, and he didn't really feel like getting into it. Not when he was feeling so groggy. What did he remember? He shuddered at that. "I remember hearing the shots."

Yes. She remembered the shots, too. She remembered looking around to see where he was as she started for cover, and she didn't see him anywhere, and she didn't get far. She remembered the people around her dashing about in near panic. Her panic was not in being shot at, though it should have been. Her panic was in not being able to find her partner. She remembered feeling that horrible burning pain explode into her chest, starting to fall…she'd heard his voice…

"Eames?"

Drawn from her recollection, she looked at him, "What? Oh, sorry. What did you say?"

"What are you thinking about?"

"Just…about you."

He looked puzzled. "What about me?"

"What you…did…" She trailed off, careful to keep her eyes averted. When he remained silent, she hazarded a look at him. He was watching her, silently, patiently. She wasn't sure she was ready for this. That park was still a dark place in her mind, visited only in her nightmares… "What else do you remember?"

"Eames…"

"No," she shook her head. "I'm not ready yet."

"Alex…"

She finally met his eyes, and she knew he could read the turmoil that was in her face. She had never been able to shut herself off from her partner, though she had tried. "You go first, Bobby. Ok?"

It was a dark place for both of them. "Only if you promise to take your turn when I'm done."

"Sure."

"Don't blow me off, Eames."

Damn him, he knew her too well. "We'll see, ok? I don't know if I'm ready yet."

"The longer you put it off, the worse it's going to be."

"This isn't about me."

"The hell it's not." Goren snorted in frustration. He knew she was having a hard time with this. But she was being stubborn, and he knew how stubborn she could be. He took a deep breath, wincing at the fire that flared in his chest. He adjusted his position carefully, drew a sharp breath at the pain that flared everywhere. And then he got angry. It was one thing for someone to target cops, to have taken him out, but this went beyond him. This affected his partner, and it caused her pain. That was inexcusable.

She saw his face darken, his eyes grow stormy. That was never a good look. "Bobby?"

He looked at her, and his face softened. She saw the pain flare in his eyes as he took another deep breath. "Ok, Alex. What do I remember?" He let his mind wander back in time, allowing the pain in his healing body to keep him grounded in the present. He remembered wandering about the scene right after they arrived, looking for something that just wasn't there. He let himself relax so his mind could seek the clues everyone thought were there. It was this startling absence of clues that began to trouble him; it was the lack of evidence that threw up the first red flags. Pulling on his latex gloves, he had turned, heading back to the body to examine it and seeking his partner to express his concern when the gunfire had erupted. His first thought had not been for his own safety. It never was. His first thought had been for his partner. He had been approaching the body from behind her when the shooting began. People scattered…and he saw her jerk, feeling his heart sink, knowing she'd been hit. He'd yelled her name…ran toward her. He caught her as she fell…instinctively knowing which direction the bullet had come from by the way her body had jerked. He'd twisted his body as they both fell toward the pavement, shielding her from the continued rain of bullets. His entire body had exploded in pain and he remembered nothing more. By the time they had hit the pavement, he'd lost consciousness. He described what his mind saw carefully, watching her to see her reaction.

She tried to keep the images out of her mind, images of her powerhouse of a partner on the ground, his lifeblood seeping from his body, breathing getting increasingly more difficult as air slowly seeped into his chest through the bullet holes, as well as out of his injured lung. She shook her head. Again, Goren watched her with those eyes…eyes that saw everything, feeding images to a brilliant mind that was able to interpret a look, a gesture, a movement, with flawless accuracy. "Ok, Eames, it's your turn now. Tell me what happened. What do you remember?"

She studied her partner, seeing him in a new light. They dealt with death and perversion all day, every day. He was always there if she needed him, to talk to, to help her cope. Intuitively, she knew that. They were partners. It was part of their relationship to support and protect each other. But this…this was somehow different. This was more…personal.

"Eames?" She pulled herself from her thoughts. "Contrary to popular opinion, I can't read minds. Talk to me."

"Damn it, Goren, you scared the hell out of me! It was bad enough getting shot, but hearing that you'd been shot protecting me, and you'd been badly hurt…"

She turned away from him. He was too damn good at reading faces, and she did not want him to see what was on her face right then…the turmoil…the fear…the utter devastation at the thought he might die and leave her…

"Eames," he said softly, shifting in the bed to relieve his increasing pain. "I…I'm sorry that you have been upset by this. But I'm not sorry for what I did."

"Bobby," she said quietly. "When my husband was killed, I never thought I would ever go through anything so…gut-wrenching…so…" She closed her eyes. "It was a very dark time for me. The darkest in my life, until now. I was terrified those doctors were going to come to me and tell me that they were sorry…that they had done all they could…just like they did seven years ago. I would never have survived that. Not again."

Not again? What could she mean by that? He didn't pursue that for the moment, though. He changed positions again, taking a deep breath but getting no relief. Ignoring his discomfort, he pressed her for what else was troubling her. "But there's more. What else is bothering you?"

What _else_ was bothering her? She had tried to spare him from those thoughts that troubled her most, but if he was going to insist... "This was my fault."

He again looked puzzled. "You didn't shoot anybody."

"No, Bobby. Not the shooting. You getting shot. You got shot because I did. What the hell kind of partnership is that? Partners are supposed to cover each other, protect each other, watch each other's backs. You're not supposed to get your partner shot." She cut off the protest she knew was coming. "I know, I know. It's not rational. But I'm human. I'm not always rational. I can't intellectualize how I feel like you can, Bobby. This is how I feel, and that's all there is to it. I broke the cardinal rule of partnership. I let you down."

They were interrupted by an orderly entering the room with a tray. He set it down on the tray table that sat at the foot of the bed. He looked at the two cops, grinned and left the room. It was enough of a distraction to break the tension that had been building. The darkness that seemed to have descended on the room lifted. Alex walked to the dinner tray, glad for a diversion, a reason not to look at her partner.

He leaned back on the pillows, still trying to ignore the pain it took to breathe. He tried changing positions again, but that was the wrong thing to do. The pain intensified, and the room faded away to darkness.

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The light seemed far away at first, but it came closer quickly, accompanied by voices. He opened his eyes with difficulty, groaned as pain bit into his consciousness. The voices stopped. He heard movement, footsteps approaching his bed. His vision cleared and he saw his partner, worried brown eyes behind the blond hair that always fell into her face…

Before he could say a word, Eames laid her hands on his arm. "Bobby…I am so sorry."

Sorry? "Sorry for what?"

"For upsetting you too soon."

He waved her off. "You didn't."

Eames took a moment to meet her partner's eyes. She wished she had his ability to read faces because she couldn't read his. She had panicked when she looked up from the tray and he was unconscious, breathing harder than she thought he should. The nurse had come right in, called the doctor. His left lung had partially collapsed again, but they said it was ok, that it had recovered spontaneously. They heard good air movement, saw no evidence of free air in his chest. They were waiting now for x-ray to send up its portable machine and a tech. She heard the doctor tell the two nurses in the room to hold off on pain medicine for now. Wait until he woke and see how he was doing. He changed the order, changed the medicine they could give him for pain…something about how the medicine depressed his breathing...contributing to the collapse of his lung. He needed to take more deep breaths, he told her. 'Encourage him to breathe deeply as much as he can. It will hurt, but he needs to do it. And coughing is good for those lungs, too. The risks will decrease once we get him up and about.'

Bobby readjusted himself in the bed, fighting down the pain that flared everywhere when he moved.

The nurse came into the room. She didn't offer him a choice, injecting the contents of the syringe she held in her hand into his IV. "This is different than what we were giving you before. It's a little stronger, but not as prone to causing respiratory depression. You'll probably go to sleep, but sleep is good."

She left the room, and Eames looked at her partner. "Feeling better?"

He didn't answer right away, waiting as the pain began to recede. He nodded as a deep fatigue settled over him.

She watched his eyes close. The freight train had hit a brick wall, and he slept. Without fear of waking him, she laid her hand on his cheek. She wasn't quite ready to go home yet, so she picked up her book and sat down to read, looking over the book from time to time just to make sure he was still ok. She was slowly letting go of her fear that he was going to die. He was getting stronger, and the fact that they'd transferred him from the ICU went a long way toward settling her anxiety. He'd scared the hell out of her earlier, but the doctors had not been too worried. She could tell he was getting better, but every time she closed her eyes, she saw the park, heard the shots and imagined the still form of her partner lying in the middle of a pool of his own blood. He was right…she had to deal with this, and the sooner she did, the better off she would be.


	13. Resolution

His sleep was restless. He'd slept heavily for awhile, but then he began tossing and turning, groaning. She rose and stood beside him, watching his face, trying to decide if it was pain or dreams that were disturbing him. Finally deciding she didn't care, she leaned over and called his name. "Bobby? Hey, Bobby…"

He settled down, slowly opening his eyes and looking at her. He took a deep breath, wincing, and changed his position in the bed. Eyes searching the room, he gradually remembered where he was, and why he was there. Damn. It hadn't been a nightmare. And he had not imagined his partner apologizing for letting him down, when she had done no such thing. "Bobby? Are you in pain?"

Pain? Sure…a lot of pain…but not all of it was physical. "Damn it, Eames. You didn't let me down."

She frowned at him. "What…?"

He reached toward her, gently taking her hand in his. "You did not let me down. You had no choice in getting shot. I…" He looked away. He had no words for what he felt, and he had no idea what the right thing to say was.

He released her hand and pressed his head back against the pillow. She wasn't sure what to say, either. So she rested her hand on his chest, gently. She looked at his face, still pale, but better. With her other hand, she touched his cheek, running her fingers down to his chin. He just watched her face, uncertain. Taking her hand from his chest she raised it to his other cheek, framing his face with both hands. Very gently, she kissed him, lingering longer than she had intended but not regretting a second of it. "Thank you, Bobby," she said as she pulled back, letting her hands fall from his face.

He was thoroughly confused now, every sense in his body reeling. "For what?" he managed.

She lightly stroked his hand, but she would not look at him. "For saving my life. For being there when I needed you, whether I knew it or not. For always being there when I need you." Her voice became even softer as she became less certain she would not cry. "For not leaving me." When he reached over, lifting her chin with his fingers so he could see her face, tears were streaming from her eyes. "For not dying," she managed.

That was it. He pulled her into his arms and she cried. He held her, gently stroking her hair, not saying a word. He had no idea what to say. But he did feel that a great weight had been lifted from his soul. He kissed her head. Everything would be ok. They would be ok.


	14. Case Notes

Logan was pacing the room, agitated. Barek snapped, "Just sit down, Mike. You're making me nervous."

Sitting in a chair by the window, grateful for the pajamas Eames had brought him from home, Goren was studying crime scene pictures from one of the files Logan and Barek had given him. Eames was leaning against the window's ledge, reading the transcripts of the interviews they'd done with the employees of both museums.

Logan pulled another file from the stack he had with him. He slapped it down on the tray table near Goren. "There was another shooting."

Both Goren and Eames looked up at him. Her frown deepened. "In the park?"

"Yeah. From another museum."

Goren picked up the file. "Another museum? Anybody hurt?"

"There were eleven officers on scene, plus Barek and me. Eight of us got hit."

"Us?" Eames looked alarmed. "Were one of you hit?"

"Try both of us. Thank God for Kevlar." He thumped the vest beneath his shirt. "Bruises heal much faster than bullet wounds. No fatalities this time. We're gonna be hard-pressed to find folks to respond to the scene in Central Park if this keeps up. At firstwe thought maybe you guys were the targets, but now I'm beginning to wonder."

"Why would you think we were the targets?" Eames asked.

"Because…" Goren replied, pulling out a chart from the file on their shooting. Laying it on the tray, he pointed to the cluster of red x's. "Most of the shots were clustered around the body, where we were. And it's not unreasonable to think someone would have a grudge against one or both of us."

"Great. Now I'll walk around the city thinking there's a big bull's-eye on my back."

Goren looked at her, his eyes smiling, before he turned his attention back to the file Logan had just given him. His eyes studied photo after photo. "And the body?"

"Same as the other two. White, mid-thirties, blonde."

"Butchered?"

"Yeah, but someplace else, and post-mortem. One kidney removed. We found the butchering site for the first two—one on top of a hoity-toity apartment building and the other on the roof of the Met. We're going rooftop to rooftop again along Central Park West and Fifth Avenue. He chose a new nest this time; there was nothing at the old ones."

Goren had not looked up from what he was doing, and Logan frowned darkly at him. Eames caught the look and understood what it meant. "Don't let him fool you, Mike. He heard and processed every word you said."

She saw her partner's mouth twitch into a small smile, but still he didn't look up. He changed files, then rubbed his forehead. "Three incidents of shooting cops from museums at the scenes of three murders in the park, none of which were committed there, but all undoubtedly committed by the same person…"

He leaned back and looked out the window. Logan raised an eyebrow and looked at Eames, who glanced at her partner, then returned her attention to the papers in her hands. Goren continued to mutter, "One kidney…postmortem…" He looked at Logan and Barek. "Have you looked into people awaiting kidney transplants?"

"What for? A kidney removed post-mortem doesn't do anyone any good. We figured it was a weird trophy."

Goren shook his head. "Everything means something. A pattern repeated has meaning. We just need to figure out the meaning."

"Geez, Goren…do you know how many people are waiting for kidneys?"

"Probably thousands," Eames guessed.

"About 4,000 in the city."

Eames looked at her partner, who had not even looked up from where he was again looking through the files. "Why am I not surprised you know that?"

He glanced at her again, then back to the files. He had laid the ME's photos of all three victims out before him. He was studying the flank incisions on all three. "Sloppy job."

"I suppose you could do better?" Eames asked.

He looked at her with a frown of distaste. "Why would I want to try?"

"Never mind, Bobby. Keep going."

"Look at these. He probably did this with a hunting or fishing knife, but it wasn't too sharp. He has to know enough about anatomy to know where to cut and what he is looking for. This has some significance for him…but what?"

Logan was still staring at the big detective. "You are not suggesting we interview four thousand people in their dialysis chairs, are you, Goren?"

Goren looked up at him. "What? Of course not. You're looking for someone who's angry at the system. Probably the husband or father of a patient waiting for a kidney and not getting one. I haven't figured out the cop connection, why he's targeting police, but the kidney part is frustration…" His eyes scanned the three pictures. "Anger…and it's escalating."

Eames was looking over his shoulder, her hand resting on his back. "Why the choice of victim, though? They're all about the same age, size…they could be sisters."

He was just shaking his head. He closed his eyes and rested his head on his hand. Barek said quietly, "We'd better go. Deakins would have a cow if he knew we were here with this. If we overtax Goren, he'll kill us."

Goren waved a hand at her. "I'm ok."

"Yeah, well, we'd still better take off," Logan said. "We're expected back at One PP and we still have to account for where we've been. I'll try to sneak these files out again and we'll be back. In the meantime, if you think of anything that does _not_ involve interviewing four thousand sick people, give us a holler."

Eames helped gather the files together into their proper folders. She walked them to the door. "Thanks, guys. It gives him something more to do than complain he wants to get the hell out of here."

Barek looked across the room, where Goren was looking out the window, lost in thought. "How _is_ he doing, Eames?"

"A lot better. They're letting him eat more than broth now. They're talking about taking the IV out soon, maybe later today. He's been getting up and moving about the last three days, and it's getting easier for him. The pain's getting better."

Logan looked at her. "You getting enough rest?"

"I try."

"He's not going to die, Alex."

"I know. But…" She looked at the two detectives, co-workers who were evolving into friends. She knew they were very responsible for his recovery. "I still worry. I can't help it."

Logan shrugged, but Barek seemed to understand better. "We'll be back," she said.

When they stepped out into the hallway, Logan leaned back and looked into the room as Eames returned to her partner's side. They headed for the elevators. Barek asked, "Do you think they…"

He held up a hand. "I don't care. As long as they continue to work as well as they always have, it doesn't matter, does it?"

"No. It doesn't."

"Ok, then. Let's get back to the squad before Deakins figures out where we've been."

Eames pulled up a chair beside him. "Are you ok, Bobby?"

He turned away from the window. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"You look tired."

"I am."

"Come on, Bobby. Lie down and take a nap. You need it."

He wanted to argue with her, but he knew she was right. He was not used to this, and he didn't want to get used to it. He wanted to get back to himself, his boundless energy, his focused mind. But he let her help him up. He was stronger now, able to walk from the bed to the chair and back without help. He lay back against his pillow, eased his breath out and closed his eyes. He groaned softly. "Should I get the nurse?"

He opened his eyes and looked at her. "Eames," he said softly. "Settle down. Come here."

She stepped to his bedside and he took her hand in his. "I'm getting stronger and I'm feeling better. I'm not back to normal yet, but I'll get there. I am not complaining about you being here. I kind of like having you around." He was not completely truthful there—he loved having her around…but he wasn't prepared to admit that to her yet. "I'm getting spoiled," he smiled. "But you really don't have to stay. I know you're still recovering yourself, and I want you to take care of yourself. I've got nurses to take care of me for the time being. I want you to think about how you are feeling, and how you are recovering. If you want to stay, I won't say no. But I want you to do what is best for you. If you aren't getting enough rest, go home. I'm fine, really."

She sat beside him on the edge of the bed and faced him, still holding his hand. She lightly fingered the hair on his arm. "I know you're going to be ok, Bobby. My pain is manageable, and I'm healing well. I'll be back to normal before you are," she grinned. "I feel ok. Really, I do." She met his eyes. "Do you want me to stay?"

He never wanted her to leave, but he was afraid that saying so would make her uncomfortable. He remained silent for a minute as a thousand thoughts fought with the turmoil of emotion tearing through his mind and his gut. This wasn't supposed to happen. He wasn't supposed to feel this way, ever. Not toward his partner. But he wasn't inclined to lie to her. "Yes," he said quietly, almost guiltily.

"Then I'll stay. Now take your nap." She squeezed his hand and hopped off the bed.

He took a couple of deep breaths…they didn't hurt as much any more, although he still tried hard not to cough if he could help it. It was bad enough when she made him laugh. Once he closed his eyes, he had no trouble drifting off.


	15. Connecting the Dots

Logan placed his hand on the door to push it open, but Barek grabbed his sleeve. She gently knocked. He looked at her. "It's not a hotel. What do you think they're doing in there?"

"Nothing, idiot. It's a matter of respect."

She pushed the door open. Eames looked up from where she was reading. Goren was asleep. She set her book aside. "Hi, guys. How's it going?"

Barek nodded toward Goren. "How is he today?"

"They said he had a rough night. He tried to do too much yesterday."

Logan frowned. "That wasn't our fault, was it?"

"No. He's just anxious to be back to normal so he's pushing it."

"Normal?" Logan asked with a grin. "Normal is something Goren has never been."

Eames just glared at him. Barek said, "Ignore him, Eames." She looked pointedly at her partner. "That's what I do."

Eames got up from her chair and moved her partner's untouched dinner tray from the tray table to the sink. Logan put a stack of files on the table.

Awakened by the voices, Goren stirred. He took a deep breath, coughed a few times and groaned. Eames looked worried. "You ok, Bobby?"

He nodded, waiting for the pain to subside. He pressed the button on the armrail to raise the head of the bed up some more. "How are you feeling?" Barek asked him.

"I'm ok. What's going on?" He nodded toward the files.

His voice was hoarse, and Logan and Barek exchanged concerned frowns. Logan said, "Well, aren't we all business?" He nodded at the tray on the sink. "Recovery 101, Goren. You need to eat. We'll wait."

The big detective frowned. Logan slid the files to the side of the table as Eames handed him the tray. He set it on the table and Barek rolled it into position. Logan took the top off the main plate. "Cold chicken. Yum."

Goren glared at him until Eames touched his shoulder. "Just eat, Bobby."

Logan said, "Hey, it's not broth." He sat down next to his partner. "Sorry we're so late. It's been a busy day."

"Any progress on the case?" Eames asked.

"Some. The bastard is stepping things up. There was another shooting last night."

Goren frowned darkly and stopped mid-bite. "Same MO?"

"To the letter."

Barek said, "Different museum, that's all."

"Another museum," he said with a frown. "Which museums has he used?"

"The Museum of Natural History, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Cooper-Hewitt and the Jewish Museum."

Goren turned inward, as Eames had seen him do many times when he was thinking, searching for a connection, a clue. His voice was low, speaking to himself, ordering his mind to help search for the thread that would bring it all together. "The Met is at 82nd, The Cooper-Hewitt is at 91st, and the Jewish is at 92nd, all along Museum Mile. Natural History is across the park at 79th on Central Park West. He's moving north. Natural history, art, design and architecture, ethnic history…"

Logan shook his head in amazement. "He's a walking guide book."

Goren stopped muttering and looked at him. "Ok, Logan, let's hear your ideas."

"I never said I _had_ an idea. I…"

"Ok, boys, that's enough," Barek interjected.

Shifting subjects, Goren asked, "Was anyone hit?"

"Yeah," Logan answered. "But no fatalities. I don't think he's realized we're wearing armor yet."

"So what's different about this one?"

"Finish eating and I'll tell you."

Eames said, "Patience is not one of my partner's virtues, Mike."

Logan barely suppressed a smile. "Then he better eat. He can kick my ass when he gets out of here."

"I just might," Goren grumbled. He finished his dinner, then leaned back and glared at Logan.

Eames moved the tray off the table as she said, "That's not a good look, Mike. You'd better tell him what's going on."

Goren switched his glare to his partner. He wasn't in much of a mood to be teased. "Cut it out, Eames."

"Geez, you're grumpy."

"Yeah, well, waking up to Logan can do that to you."

Both female detectives laughed, and Logan frowned at them. "I'm so glad we amuse you." He got up and sifted through the stack of files. Pulling out a file, he pushed it toward Goren. "All four shootings took place at night. Last night, we saw flash."

Eames walked around to look at the scene photos with Goren. "So our boy isn't smart enough to use a flash suppressor at night."

"But he _is_ smart enough to take off when he sees a shitload of cops charge across the street and into the building he's on top of. I've never had to break into a museum before. And…" He paused for effect. "He left his weapon behind."

Goren's frown deepened. "That makes no sense."

"Hey, I'm not gonna look a gift horse in the mouth. He panicked." Goren turned his attention back to the pictures and Logan went on, "Ballistics matched the rifle to the slugs and the casings from all four shootings."

Eames asked, "Was the rifle registered?"

"Yeah, but it's bogus. Address is a vacant lot in the Bronx."

"Let me guess. Social security, DMV, credit…all came up empty."

"Bingo. You've done this before."

Goren looked up at him. "Was the purchase on the up and up?"

Barek pointed to the file. "Paperwork's in the file. Looks legit."

"He had to have some kind of ID. Where was it purchased?"

"AJ's Sporting Goods, up in Queens," she said.

Anticipating Goren's next question, Logan said, "No, we haven't been there yet. And yes, it's on our 'to do' list for tomorrow."

"What are they doing about the museums?"

"You mean besides panicking? What the hell can they do? No one knows what the guy looks like and they won't shut the museums down. They've got all the stairwells under lock and key and the elevators locked off from roof access. Unless this guy is beaming on and off the rooftops or climbing the walls like Spiderman, he's not getting up there. And besides, he's not targeting their patrons. He's just gunning for us."

Goren turned to the pictures of the victim. He ran his hand through his hair in angry frustration. Another woman dead. He slammed his hand down on the tray table, causing the other three detectives to jump. Only Eames understood, as she always did. "It's not your fault, Bobby."

"Four women, Eames. Murdered and butchered. We've got to stop this guy before any more die."

Logan swore. He had not expected Goren's anger. "Maybe I better take that file before you get any further into it, Goren."

"Why?"

Logan looked at Barek, who shook her head and sighed heavily. She looked at Goren and Eames. "Before you get to the ME's report…this last victim was pregnant."

Eames closed her eyes and looked down at the floor. Goren leaned back into his pillow and looked at the ceiling. "I need to get out of here," he said evenly.

"Bobby…" Eames started, stopping when he looked at her. She did not like the look in his eyes. Without looking at the other detectives, she said, "Maybe you guys should go for a walk."

"Right," Logan agreed. "C'mon, Barek. Let's go get coffee."

As soon as they left, Eames slid up onto the bed beside him, facing him, and laid a hand on either side of her partner's face. "You listen to me, Goren. _None_ of this is your fault and I'm not going to have you owning this. Let it go. We'll get this bastard. But you are not leaving this hospital before you're ready. This has been hell, for both of us, and I will not let you backslide for any reason. When you're ready, then you'll leave, but not before. Got it?"

He studied her, suddenly fully aware of her hands on his face. The storm faded from his eyes. He rested his hand lightly against her side. "We can't let any more women die, Eames."

"I hate like hell to say this, Bobby, but there's nothing we can do. It's Logan and Barek's case. All we have are these files, but if the answer is here, I know you'll find it. Beyond sifting through these files, there is nothing more we can do. We have no choice. _You_ have no choice."

No choice. He knew exactly what that felt like. "Eames…"

"I mean it, Goren. You are staying put."

To emphasize her point, she placed both hands on his shoulders and pressed him back into the bed. He let her. He knew that determined look only too well. His face relaxed into a smile and he gently pulled her against him. She let him hold her, enjoying the feel of his broad chest beneath her cheek. She shouldn't enjoy it this much...but she did. "Promise me, Bobby. Promise you'll stay put until they say you can leave."

He stroked her hair and placed a gentle kiss on her head. "All right, Eames. I promise."

When Logan and Barek returned with the coffee, he had two files open in front of him, and she was sitting by the window looking through one of the others. "Everything ok now?" Logan asked as he handed Eames a cup of coffee and a danish. She smiled at him. "Thanks, Mike. Everything's fine."

Barek handed Goren his coffee and a donut. He looked at her and gave her a smile that reached his eyes. She rested a hand on his arm,then moved away to sit down beside her partner.

"Look, Goren," Logan began. "I'm sorry we…"

"Forget it, Logan. It's ok."

"Well, what do we have here?" Four surprised detectives looked toward the door at the sound of their captain's voice.

"Oh, shit," Logan muttered.

"Why wasn't I invited to this little party?"

"Captain…"

"I think you had better be quiet for the moment, Logan." He looked from one detective to the next, his eyes finally coming to rest on Goren. "How are you doing, Bobby?"

"I'm fine, Captain. Don't blame Logan and Barek." He nodded at the file. "I need to be doing this."

"And what does your doctor say about it?"

"Nothing. As long as I'm not getting myself into trouble, he won't say a word. We need to stop this guy."

"You think I don't know that? The mayor has been on my back to get this guy since you got shot."

"Everyone jumps when the Golden Child gets hurt," Logan mumbled.

Barek smacked his arm and Deakins looked at him. "What was that, Logan?"

"Nothing," he answered, picking up a file and starting to go through it.

The captain leaned against the window and said, "So what have the four of you come up with?"

"Not a damn thing," Logan answered. "Tomorrow we're going to AJ's up in Queens to talk to the clerk who sold the perp the rifle. His background check came up too clean."

Deakins was watching Goren, who was suddenly sifting through the file in front of him, looking for something. "Bobby? You got something?"

The other three detectives stopped what they were doing to turn their attention to the big detective. Goren pulled out the registration for the rifle. "According to this, he used a state-issued ID. After the required five day wait, he waited another two days before he picked up the rifle. That would be the day before the first shooting. He didn't seem in a rush to get the gun. This address in the Bronx…"

"We told you it was an empty lot. No record there was ever anything on the spot."

"What else is near the lot?"

"Mostly apartments. A burger joint, grocery and deli, and a clinic."

"What kind of clinic?"

"Just a general medical clinic. We checked with them and they have no record of a Harry Wilson ever being seen there."

"He must have known the address he gave was an empty lot, but why _this_ empty lot? There are lots of empty lots in the five boroughs." He studied the paper in his hand. "Harry…Harry is a nickname for Henry…Wilson...Wilson…Oh, God…No…" he groaned. "No."

Eames knew that look, the emotion in his voice. He had filled in the blanks his mind had been searching for and connected the dots…and he didn't like the answer. "What, Bobby?"

Logan leaned back in his chair. "Go ahead, Goren. Impress us."

Barek elbowed him. "Shut up, Mike."

"Where's that list of the names of the officers who were shot…was Rick Sullivan one of them?"

"Your old partner?" Deakins asked.

Goren nodded. Logan didn't look up from the file he was looking through. "How long did that one last?"

Absently, Goren replied, "Nine weeks."

Barek slid a paper out of the file she had. "Here it is. Yes…Sullivan took two hits in last night's shooting. Kevlar saved his life."

"Who suggested this guy was targeting Eames or me?"

With a confused frown, Barek said, "I did, but I was wrong."

"No, you weren't." He held up the registration form. "Harry Wilson. Six years ago, we busted a guy named Wilson Henry for stealing artifacts. He was a museum worker. Smart guy."

"Harry Wilson…Wilson Henry…not very imaginative," Logan observed.

Goren kept going. "Wilson's mother was on dialysis for kidney failure due to diabetes. She was a very difficult match…she'd been waiting for a long time. Her daughter turned out to be a match…but she wasn't willing to donate."

Eames said "Let me guess…she was blonde and she'd be in her mid-thirties by now."

Goren nodded. "When we arrested him, he was living in Brooklyn, in a decent apartment in Bay Ridge, taking care of his mother. He was working at the Museum of Natural History at the time, taking his mom to dialysis three times a week. After he got arrested, she went into a nursing home."

"Do you remember the mother's name?" Deakins asked.

He thought for a minute. "Eleanor, I think. Sister's name was Sally."

Logan finished writing it all down. "Damn, Goren. Do you ever forget anything? Come on, Barek. Let's see if we can't locate Mr. Henry."

Deakins asked, "You really think he was gunning for you and Sullivan?"

Goren nodded, glancing at Eames, but not saying anything. He slid the photos and papers back into the file and closed it. He handed it to Deakins, who took it and gathered it together with the other three files. He looked at his best team of detectives and smiled. "Good job. We'll let you know how it pans out with Mr. Henry. Are you sure you're feeling ok, Bobby?"

"I'm fine, Captain."

"Well, take it easy so you can get out of here. I'll stop by this weekend." He tucked the files under his arm and said good night.


	16. The Difference

Goren and Eames were alone. Eames knew her partner, knew he was troubled. "What is it, Bobby?"

"You said you felt it was your fault I got shot. But it wasn't. It was _my_ fault _you_ got shot."

She sat on the edge of the bed and was quiet for a long moment. Then she looked into her partner's troubled face. "Bobby, it's part of the job, and it's a part we all accept knowingly. There's always a risk someone with a grudge is going to come gunning for us. But we set those thoughts aside and we do our job. Everything else is out of our hands. Don't beat yourself up about it. I'm fine. It could have turned out a lot differently, but it didn't. So we don't beat ourselves up over 'what ifs' and 'coulda beens.' You know?" She moved closer to him and slid her hand onto his abdomen. "Your mom 'could have' been healthy. My husband 'could have' lived. My nephew 'could have' been my child and your dad 'could have' stayed. We'd go crazy if we thought of all the ways life 'could' be different. We just need to accept it as it is, for what it is, and do the best we can with what we have to deal with. We can't change what was. We can just do our best to enjoy what is and hope that what comes will be enough to make us happy."

He slid his arm alongside her, his hand coming to rest on her hip. "And are you, Eames? Are you happy?"

"For now? Yes, Bobby. I am happy. Are you?"

For him, that was a loaded question, and he wasn't sure what the answer was. So he changed the subject. "What are you looking for?"

The question caught her off guard. "What do you mean?"

"Out of life…what are you looking for out of life?"

"I don't know. I'm not sure I'm looking for anything specific. Maybe I won't know until I'm old and look back. Then I'll be able to decide if I got everything I wanted out of life."

"Were you happy when you were married?"

He had her entirely off balance now, which was a rarity. She was always very careful to avoid that. It made her feel…vulnerable, weak…and she hated feeling that way. "Yes, Bobby," she answered sadly. "We were both happy."

The sadness in her voice disturbed him. He studied her face, absently caressing her side as a measure of comfort. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"It's…ok. I still can't think about him and not feel sad. I loved him, and I always will. Losing him was very hard…and I miss him. I try to go out to visit his grave once a month, you know, make sure it's well tended to and he has fresh flowers. When I feel really lonely, and I can't talk to you, I still talk to him. That's my…quirk. But when I reach out to touch him, all I can ever feel is grass and dirt, or a piece of marble that tells the world he was a beloved husband and son." He reached out and touched her cheek, where a single tear rolled onto his finger. She had never told him any of this before, and he didn't want to discourage her. If he could help excise some of her demons, he was glad to do it. Lord knew she'd sent many of his packing.

She placed her hand over his. She'd never shared this with anyone, how much she missed her husband, how lonely her life had been since then. And again the fears and uncertainties she had been dealing with since the shooting surfaced. Her body shivered as she thought about how close she had come to losing him…and there it was again…her mind comparing the loss of her husband to the near loss of her partner. She took a deep breath, surprised that it sounded…shaky.

"Hey, you ok?" he asked. "Come on, Eames. Talk to me."

She kept her eyes cast downward, letting her hand lightly stroke his arm. "There's nothing to say I haven't already said. I just keep thinking about you…getting hurt. I can't get it out of my mind. And I can't forget how much this whole thing has reminded me of what I went through seven years ago." She straightened up and looked at him. "I'll be ok, Bobby. I just need time. There's a difference here."

He was well aware of that difference. "I'm not your husband."

She frowned, noticing an odd tone in his voice, searching for something in his face that would explain it. There was nothing. That was just Bobby, stating the flipping obvious. "The difference isn't that you are not my husband, Bobby. The difference is that you lived. And thank God you lived. I could not take another loss like that again. Ever."

"_Another_…loss like that?"

"Yes, Bobby. Another loss like that." How could she explain this to him? How could she tell him how much he meant to her when she hadn't fully figured it out? She laughed softly. "Get a bunch of cops together and they gossip like old ladies at bingo. Do you think I haven't heard what they say about us, Bobby? They say I mitigate your intensity, that I ground you into the world, into life. We are more than partners, and you have to feel that, too. I can't lose you. Damn it, Goren, I would never recover."

He leaned back and closed his eyes, struggling to get a hold on his emotions. She didn't know quite what to make of that and she was starting to worry she'd said too much when he opened his eyes again. He laid a hand on her cheek. "You do that, Eames, what they say. You do ground me; you help me keep a grasp on my…sanity. You have stuck with me all this time, and I can't tell you what that means to me. Sometimes…I even think you…understand me. I don't even understand me," he laughed, again wincing at the pain that flared with his laughter. "Eames," he said softly. "I don't know the words to tell you how much you mean to me. The closest I can come is to tell you I love you, and even that falls short. But I do love you, and I guess that will have to do."

She smiled, looking down at her hands for a minute. Finally she looked up at him, at those soft brown eyes she had always felt drawn to. "It'll do, Bobby. I love you, too, so it will have to do, for both of us."

Leaning forward, she gently kissed him. Resting her head against his she said, "I think that as long as I don't retire to a lonely apartment filled with cats, I'll be happy."

He laughed again. "Ok, Alex. No cats."


	17. The Arrest

Two days passed without any more word on the case, and Goren was getting agitated. Eames tried to distract him, playing Scrabble with him, deliberately trying to make him laugh…but he still worried about the case. She accepted that—it was just the way he was. She was concerned about how Logan and Barek were progressing, but it didn't disturb her the way it did her partner.

It was early evening, and she'd been able to con him into another game of Scrabble. The doctor had come by just after dinner, very pleased with the progress Goren was making. "Keep it up, detective," he'd said with a smile. "And I'll be able to send you home in another week or so."

"Hello?" came a voice from the doorway.

Logan and Barek came into the room. "Hey," Logan said. "How's it going tonight?"

"We're ok," Eames answered. "What'd you find out?"

Logan looked at the Scrabble board. "Thrombus? Let me guess, that was your word, Goren."

Eames said, "It's a blood clot."

Logan looked at Goren, shaking his head with a grin as he and his partner sat down. Logan said, "Well, you deserve your reputation, Goren. Henry was released on parole two months ago. The guy at AJ's made a positive ID on that rifle purchase. We found out his mom passed away last year, from complications of pneumonia. She never did get that transplant. His sister left the area. She got married and moved out to Burbank two years ago. Just had her second kid and there's no record she's been back since, not even for her mother's funeral. PO gave us an address in the East Village, and we nailed him this morning."

Barek shook her head. "He's nothing like I expected him to be. His place was neat as a pin. We found a couple of cases of ammo for the rifle, but nothing that would tell us he's an ex-con."

Logan continued, "He lawyered up, but Carver says theammo and the ID from AJ's fingering him as the purchaser is good enough to chargehim with multiple counts of assault with a deadlyweapon, murder andattempted murder of a bunch of cops. I tried talking to him, but didn't get anywhere. I think you need to talk to him when you get out of here, Goren. If anyone can get him to say the wrong thing about those murdered women, you can."

"It's going to be another week before I get out of here."

"Don't worry about it. This guy's not going anywhere."


	18. Discharge

**A/N: Just a little more fluff before things get intense one last time.**

Deakins sat in a chair by the window as Goren pulled on his shirt. As he finished buttoning it, the nurse came in with a clipboard. "Well, Detective Goren, I am glad to see you finally going home. A month is more than long enough to be in the hospital." She consulted the clipboard. "Here are your discharge instructions. Basically you can eat what you want and do what you want, but take it easy for a little while. Your body is still healing, so listen to it. If it hurts, don't do it. Here's a prescription for a mild pain killer, if you need it. If you have any trouble breathing, fever above 101, or pain not controlled by this medication, get yourself to the ER. Just sign here." He did. "And you are free to go. Take care of yourself."

"Thank you."

Deakins stood and looked out the window. It looked like rain. Behind him, Goren tucked in his shirt, stuffed the prescription into his pocket and picked up the gym bag Eames had left for him. "Ready to go, Captain?"

"Whenever you are, Bobby."

Eames had left a few hours ago, saying she had some things to get done, but that she would see him later. After being around her so much over the past few weeks, he missed her. She was almost fully recovered and ready to return to work, and he was grateful for that. As for his recovery…he was getting there. He still had healing to do, and the captain was not willing to risk his well being by letting him back to work too soon. Goren hadn't been happy to hear that, but when Eames sided with Deakins, he decided it wasn't worth the fight. He'd give it two more weeks…then he was going back to the squad room.

It was just starting to rain when the captain let Goren off at his apartment, where the big detective assured him he would be fine; he didn't need for Deakins to walk him in. He pulled his bag out of the back seat and leaned back in the window, grinning at his captain. "Don't treat me with kid gloves, Captain. I'm not fragile. Thanks for the ride."

Deakins laughed softly. "Rest, Bobby. Call if you need anything."

Goren waved and headed into the building. He stopped at the mailbox, but it was empty. He smiled. Eames had been there. He rode the elevator up to his floor and walked down the hall to his apartment. Pulling out his keys, he slid the door key into the lock. The door swung open and he dropped the bag beside the coat rack as he closed the door. He went into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. He smiled. Milk, eggs, lunch meat, chop meat, beer, juice…someone had gone shopping and stocked his fridge. He didn't have to guess who. He found his phone on the counter, sitting next to a neat stack of mail and plugged into its charger. Unplugging it, he hit speed dial two and waited for her to answer. "Eames," she answered. "Are you home already?"

"I was ready to get out of there. Thanks for going shopping."

"Your fridge was pathetic, Bobby. You aren't going to continue getting better on peanut butter and sour milk."

He laughed, grateful it didn't hurt so much anymore. She had a knack for making him laugh. "How about dinner?"

"What? You're not sick of me yet?"

"Not yet."

It was her turn to laugh. "Ok, Bobby. I'll be there soon."

He closed the phone and set it on the counter. He took a glass from the cabinet, noticing the dishes that he hadn't had a chance to wash before he'd been shot were no longer in the sink. He smiled. She'd washed the dishes, too. Pulling a container of orange juice from the fridge, he filled the glass and returned the container to its shelf. He walked into the living room and sat down on the couch. His chest hurt a bit, but he had done more in the last hour and a half than he'd done in the past week. He'd have to build his stamina back up. But for now, he was tired. He lay down, rested his head on the arm of the couch and closed his eyes.

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He felt a hand on his forehead and slowly opened his eyes. He smiled at his partner as she sat on the edge of the couch beside him. Her hand rested on his chest. "How are you feeling?"

"Just tired." He slid his arm around her. "And you?"

"I feel fine. I'm going in to work tomorrow. Deakins is keeping me on a desk until you come back. It'll give me a chance to finish all that paperwork we left. Again I get stuck with the paperwork. You owe me for that, Goren."

"Ok. I owe you."

She laughed. "I made dinner. Come on."

She started to get up but he held her down, watching her face with a half smile on his. "Thanks, Eames."

"For what?"

"Well, for starters, you washed my dishes and stocked my fridge."

"There were eight dishes in the sink, Goren. Give me a break. And if you don't eat right and get better fast, I'll be stuck on a desk longer than I want to be. Besides, you already thanked me for that."

He swung his body around and sat up beside her. She was pleased to see his natural grace had returned. Sliding his arm around her shoulders he drew her close. "So I did." He sighed. "How's your nephew?"

Surprised, she said "Great. What's wrong?"

He shook his head. "Nothing. I was just wondering. Uh, Alex, since I'm still supposed to take it easy…when you're done at work tomorrow, would you mind…going with me out to Carmel Ridge?"

She smiled at him, surprised, but pleased by his request. "No, Bobby. I wouldn't mind at all."

"I think maybe it's time you met her. When she's lucid she always asks about you."

"Does she? And what do you tell her?"

"Oh, just the good things."

She poked him, making him laugh. "And what _don't_ you tell her?"

"Just the things she…doesn't need to know."

"Like how you nearly died saving my life?"

His smile faded and he leaned forward to look at her face. "I thought we were ok with this."

She touched his cheek. "We are, Bobby. Really. We're fine. I just…" She paused for a second, then asked, "Did I ever thank you?"

"Thank me? For what?"

"For saving my life, idiot."

He kissed the side of her head. "Yeah, you did, but that's ok. I'd do it again, in a heartbeat. I need you, Alex. I can't have some psycho taking you away from me. I have a handle on my life…as long as you're in it."

"Well, the psycho is where he belongs, and so am I. Come on, Goren—dinner's getting cold and you need to keep up your strength."

"Eames…"

She silenced him with a gentle kiss. "Dinner," she repeated, hopping off the couch and heading for the table. He sat there for a minute before he got up and followed her.


	19. Carmel Ridge

Eames pulled up to the curb in front of Goren's apartment building. He came right out and slid into the passenger seat. "You sounded tired on the phone," she said.

"I had trouble sleeping last night. It was too quiet," he laughed softly. After a month in the hospital he was used to beeping alarms and middle of the night blood pressures. "How was your first day back?"

"It was all paperwork, Goren." She didn't look at him. "And you can stop smirking."

He turned to look out the window. "Sorry, Eames," he said, but his smile stayed.

She continued through the city streets and eased the black SUV onto the highway. He hadn't said anything more and he seemed tense. "What's wrong, Bobby?"

He looked at her surprised. "What?"

"You're nervous. What's up?" He sighed heavily but didn't answer right away. "Having second thoughts?"

He certainly was but he didn't want to tell her that. If she thought _he_ was intense, what would she think of his mother? God, he hoped she was having a good day. "Goren, do you want me to pull over?"

"What? No…no…I just want you to…prepare yourself, Alex. Visiting my mother can be a difficult thing to do."

Eames knew that very well—she could always tell when he had a difficult visit. It tore him up. She was hoping that maybe she could help him through those times. Maybe no one could, but she felt a need to try. "Don't worry about it, Bobby. She's sick. You can't blame her when she has a bad day."

He knew that…but he did. He always had. Maybe if she'd sought help sooner, instead of trying to hide her illness…maybe if she had taken her meds regularly…There were those 'what ifs' and 'coulda beens' Alex had warned him about. Yes, his mother could have made better choices, but she hadn't. Now he had to bear the burden of those poor choices…but at least out at Carmel Ridge, she was safe. She could not harm herself, or others, at least not physically. "Just prepare yourself, Alex. And take anything she says with caution."

She reached toward him and rested a gentle hand on his arm. "It's ok, Bobby. I'm not here to judge you." If she could handle seeing him lying in a hospital bed with a machine breathing for him, visiting his mother was nothing. "It'll be alright."

He rested his hand on hers and gave it a squeeze. He sure hoped she was right.

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The corridor that stretched back to her unit seemed even longer today. The unit secretary at the nurses' station smiled at him. "Bobby! It's been awhile. Is everything ok?"

"Hi, Sylvia. Everything's fine. I was just in the hospital for a little while."

"Nothing serious, I hope."

He shook his head. "I'm fine now. How is my mother?"

"The last week was a little rough but she's doing well. So far she's having a very good day."

Eames saw him relax a little as he introduced her to Sylvia, adding, "Sylvia does most of the work around here."

Sylvia grinned at Eames. "It's nice to be appreciated."

Eames returned her smile. "Isn't it though?"

Goren sensed the start of a conversation that was going to embarrass him if he let it continue. "Come on, Alex. Thanks, Sylvia."

"It was nice to meet you," Eames managed before rushing to follow her partner down another corridor lined with doors. Most of them were closed, but in some of the rooms with open doors, she noticed bars or wire mesh on the windows…on the inside…not to keep people out, but to keep them _in_. Goren stopped at a door three-quarters of the way down the hall. "Last chance, Eames," he warned. "Are you sure about this?"

"Go in and say hi to your mom, Goren."

Smiling gratefully at her, he knocked on the closed door. She followed him into the room, wondering if she felt as nervous as her partner _looked_. It was a nice room, now glowing with the light of the setting sun that streamed in through the window. In the center of the room, was a hospital bed, flanked to the right by a bedside table with two drawers. A matching dresser was set against the opposite wall beside a small cart holding a nineteen-inch TV, which was off. Two chairs were on the far side of the room by the window. Eames noticed the pictures that adorned the dresser…nice, expensive frames but no glass. There was Bobby in his green Army uniform, and one of him in his police blues. Another one with two young boys, maybe five and ten years old, on the shore of a lake, holding up the fish they had caught. The fish Bobby held was half his size. As big as he was now, he had been a small boy. His eyes sparkled with the innocence of a childhood that had not yet been taken from him. She smiled at the boy who had become the man who was her partner. The last picture was a school picture of a teenaged Bobby, serious, haunted, much more like the Bobby she knew.

Goren crossed the room to his mother, whose face had lit up when she saw her youngest son. Her once dark hair was now silver and she was a much smaller woman than Eames had imagined she would be. "Bobby!" she exclaimed, sounding delighted.

He leaned over and kissed her. "Hi, Mom."

"You didn't come by on Wednesday."

"I'm sorry. I couldn't get away."

"I've missed your calls, too. Those damn nurses haven't let me talk to you!"

He dropped to a knee beside her chair. "Don't blame them. I haven't been able to call either."

"You work too hard, Robert."

"I have to. But I'll try not to miss any more calls and visits. Ok?"

Her face relaxed into a smile and she patted his cheek. "Ok, Bobby."

He stood up and said, "Mom, I brought someone along today for you to meet. This is my partner, Alex." He met Eames' eyes. "This is my mother."

Alex smiled and extended her hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Goren."

Frances Goren studied her for a moment before her face relaxed into a smile and she accepted the offered hand. Alex thought she could hear her partner exhale. "Hello, Alex." Her hand was warm and soft. "Where are your manners, Bobby? Sit down, dear." She continued to hold Alex's hand until the younger woman was seated. Goren sat on the edge of the bed and watched in silence as the two women began to chat. He wasn't sure if this was a good thing or not, but he was relieved beyond words that his mother was having a good day.

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Goren shifted uncomfortably on the bed as his mother laughed with his partner over yet another story from his childhood. He was decidedly uncomfortable, and he got the impression Eames was enjoying his discomfort. His mother's face was bright and animated, devoid of the paranoid shadows that lurked there most of the time. She was being a mom, enjoying a talk about her favorite subject, her son. There was not a single mention of 'them.' He really was beginning to wish they would find another topic, though.

After nearly an hour of chatting and laughing with Eames about her son's boyhood, she turned her gray eyes toward him. "So, are you going to tell me why you have been gone, Bobby?"

"It was police business, Mom."

"Always saving the world."

"No, just my small corner of it."

"Did they hurt you?"

Oh, God… "I'm fine, Mom."

He wished to hell he knew who 'they' were. He saw the shadows beginning to settle in her eyes, and he knew what was coming. She looked around the room. "They are after me, and they try to get to me by hurting you…Be careful, Bobby."

"I'm always careful…no one is after you."

His test of her reality…if she argued about it, she was on her way down a slippery slope that always ended up with restraints and medication. "Are you contradicting me, Robert?"

"No, Mom." Eames could not miss the pain that flared into his eyes. She watched his mother get up from the chair and head toward the closet. She heard her partner swear softly. He stepped to her side and whispered in her ear, "Go out to the nurses' desk and tell them to get in here. Wait for me out there. I won't be long."

She met his eyes. Lightly touching his cheek, she got to her feet and left the room. His mother didn't even notice. She was searching the closet for any trace of 'them,' muttering in the midst of her paranoid delusion. Two doctors and two orderlies came hurrying into the room.

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Eames looked up when he approached her twenty minutes later. He seemed a little stiff, and she was afraid he'd gotten hurt. She stood up and waited for him to say something. "I…I'm sorry it had to end that way."

"Are you ok? You got hurt didn't you?"

"I'm fine. It was a really good visit until the end."

"How is she?"

He looked over his shoulder down the hall. He shrugged. "This is more normal than not for her. Come on, let's go."

She watched him as they walked toward the exit. "Bobby…"

"Now you know, Alex. You know…what she's like, and you see what I see, every week. If you decide it's too much, believe me, I understand."

She thought carefully about how to word what she was going to say, knowing he was a bit fragile right now. "I think she was sweet, Bobby. I enjoyed the visit very much. It's not her fault she's sick. If she had cancer, I wouldn't stop coming to see her, so there is no reason for me not to come to see her again." She stopped and turned to look at him. "And I think it's important for you to have someone to share this with. You need me to be here for you, and I am not going to let you down. I'm not uncomfortable with her, or her illness. Not like you thought I would be."

He studied her face, read her sincerity, and gathered her into his arms in a hug. "Thanks, Alex."

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Eames headed the SUV back toward the city. Goren leaned back in the passenger seat and fell asleep fairly quickly. The visit had wiped him out. When they got back to his apartment building, she parked, gently woke him and went upstairs with him.

He offered no resistance when she helped him slide off his shirt, but she caught her breath at the bruise that was purpling across his lower ribs on the left side of his chest. "What happened?" she asked quietly.

He just shrugged. "She gets combative, and I don't let her hit the doctors or orderlies when I'm there."

"Today you should have."

"I'm ok, Eames. It just feels like a bruise, nothing more."

"Get in bed. I'll get you something to drink. Where's your pain medicine?"

He shrugged. "I never got it filled."

She stared at him for a minute. "Where's the prescription?"

"On the dresser."

"I'll be back in a little while."

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When she returned, she boiled water and made two cups of tea. One she set on the coffee table, the other she took, with two of his pills, into the bedroom. He roused easily, took the medicine without making an issue of it, and went right back to sleep.

She watched him sleep for a few minutes, then lightly kissed his forehead and left the bedroom, closing the door behind her. She sat down on the couch, turned on the TV, and looked for a movie to watch.


	20. Interrogation

Goren studied Wilson Henry through the one-way glass. He was a small man, balding, pale. The orange jumpsuit gave him a little color and the thick, dark-rimmed glasses made him look, well, as Eames said, like a dweeb. He smiled at that. Behind him, Deakins and Carver just watched and waited. Logan and Barek were there as well, since it was their case. Eames leaned against the wall by the door, waiting for him to get ready to go into the interrogation room with her to face their assailant. Goren had only been back on the job for little over a week. She was not about to let him go in there alone, and Deakins agreed with her. The big detective tried to make a case for taking Logan in with him, but Eames had called him a stupid ass and told him to shut up. She was going in there with him. It was her right as his partner, and he finally conceded. Goren looked at Logan and Barek. "Uh, he has some bruises on his face. How'd he get those?"

Logan replied, "He…resisted."

Goren looked at Barek, who just shrugged. He met his partner's eyes before he looked back through the glass. "Where's his lawyer?"

"To quote the man," Logan answered. "'I don't need no goddam lawyer.'"

Goren nodded and looked at the ADA. "Mr. Carver?"

Carver shrugged. "If the man refuses counsel, there's not much we can do about it."

He looked back through the glass. "He's smart. Did you get his waiver of counsel in writing, Logan?"

"I've done this before, Goren. Yeah, we got it."

The big detective looked over his shoulder at his fellow detective. "Sorry."

"Are you sure you're up for this, detective?" Carver asked.

"I'm up for it, Mr. Carver. Ready, Eames?"

"Whenever you are, Bobby."

"Let's go."

Deakins and Carver moved to the glass and turned on the intercom as the detectives entered the room. Carver looked at the captain. "You're sure about this, Captain?"

"Do you want your confession for those murdered women?"

"Captain, this man shot both of those officers. Goren almost died. Are you sure they can do this, and do it right?"

Deakins looked at the ADA. "Absolutely, Mr. Carver."

Carver shrugged and they turned their attention to the interrogation room.

Eames took a seat at the table as Goren began. "Hello, Wil. It's been a long time."

Henry looked up and studied the big detective. He looked confused. "Detective Goren?"

"You remember me. Good. This is my partner, Detective Eames."

"No, your partner is a man…Detective Sullivan."

"No, not for a long time. Detective Eames and I have been partners for the last five years. So tell me, Wil, why are you so surprised to see me?"

"You are…I…you're supposed to be dead, Goren. You and Sullivan."

"Now why would you think that?"

Henry turned his attention from the detective and stared past him toward the mirror. Goren paced for a minute. Eames said, "Well? There has to be a reason you thought my partner was dead."

Henry looked from one detective to the other. He decided to talk to Eames, which did not sit well with her partner. "Your partner killed my mother!"

"Really? Detective Goren, you never told me you killed Mr. Henry's mother."

"Tell me, Wil." He leaned toward the little man. "How did I kill your mother?"

"You sent me to Rikers. You and Sullivan."

Goren nodded and paced in front of the mirror. He laughed. "_I_ sent you to Rikers? How do you figure that? You were the one stealing artifacts. That's why you went up. And you were convicted by a jury and sentenced by a judge. We arrested you, and then the matter was out of our hands." He stopped pacing and looked toward the suspect. "So you ambushed us. Well, you screwed that up, Wil. Sullivan and I both survived your little plot. That was very sloppy of you. Your stay at Rikers was a cakewalk compared to what you're facing now."

Eames could tell her partner was getting worked up. She caught his eye, and he seemed to settle, but he resumed his pacing. There was that boundless energy. She asked the suspect, "How did you get on top of the museums?"

"That was easy. I worked in those every one of those museums at one time or another. I made copies of all the keys. I knew my way around. They don't change the locks in the stairwells leading up to the roof."

Goren went off on another tangent. "That was something, planting those bodies in the park, waiting for the police to show up and then trying to pick us off. Brilliant." He turned to face Henry; the look in his eyes unsettled his partner. "But you hit my partner. She never did a damn thing to you. You hit two other detectives from our squad. Again they never did anything to you. That _wasn't_ smart." He placed his fists on the table, leaning forward, head tilted down to look Henry in the eye. "You're looking at the death penalty, Wil. You killed three cops." He walked to the mirror, still unsettled and fidgety. He looked back at Henry. "It's a good thing your mom's not around to see this, wouldn't you say?"

Henry suddenly exploded out of his chair. Eames pushed her chair backwards out of his way as Goren moved forward, between her and the suspect. Henry climbed over the table, but Goren grabbed him and slammed him backwards, prone onto the tabletop.

Behind the glass, Logan and Barek stood ready. "You want us to get in there, Captain?"

Deakins raised a hand. "Goren has him under control."

Logan frowned. "Yeah, but who has Goren under control?"

Goren leaned down toward the suspect, who didn't have the sense to be frightened. "What are you gonna do, Wil?" he yelled. "I'm not your sister. You're not going to get your hands around my throat like you did those women you lured us into the park with. What were you thinking? Huh? What went through your mind as you strangled the life out of them and butchered them? Tell me. I'm interested."

"Let me up, then."

"Only if you behave."

"Leave my mother out of it and I will."

Goren released him and stepped back, careful to remain between Henry and Eames. "Ok, Wil. Let's hear it. What the hell were you thinking?"

Henry returned to his seat, straightening his glasses and smoothing his shirt. "My sister did a vanishing act. But she is the one who should be here, not me! She killed my mother."

"Really? I thought I killed your mother."

Eames got up and walked past her partner, subtly reminding him she was there and he needed to calm down. She had never seen him like this. She took the next question, to give Goren a chance to settle down. She was getting a grasp of Henry's mindset, unstable though it was. "So you found women who looked like her, and killed them. Then you removed their kidneys…"

Henry looked off into space, not giving his attention to either detective. "Just one of them. I only took one kidney from each of them. I gave them to Mother."

Eames frowned, not quite sure she wanted the answer to her next question. "You gave them…to your mother?"

"She needed a kidney. Now she has four."

"But…she's dead," Eames pointed out.

Henry turned his glare toward her. Goren tensed, not liking this suspect paying any attention to his partner. "I buried them with her," he spat. "How else was I supposed to give them to her? Your partner made sure I couldn't do anything else to help her!"

Goren shook his head, redirecting Henry's attention away from Eames. "Why the setups, Wil? Why were you killing cops?"

"Because you took me from my mother. She would not have died if I had been taking care of her!"

"Your mother died of pneumonia! Her dialysis was going well, according to her doctors. She could have lived another ten years. It was pneumonia."

"Lies! Don't tell me more lies!" Henry screamed. "My sister killed her by not giving her a kidney! _She_ needs to go to jail for murder!"

Goren shook his head. He had spoken to Henry's sister. "No. Your sister was never under any obligation to donate a kidney to your mother. And your mother understood that. Sally had her own life to live. She wanted children. She didn't want anything to put her future family at risk."

"She could still have had kids. All she had to do was give one kidney…"

"Things happen, Wil. There are risks with any procedure. It was not a risk your sister was willing to take, and that was her right."

"No! It was her responsibility to save my mother! And when you took me away from them I never got the chance to convince her to do what was right!"

"'Convince her?'" Eames asked. "How were you planning to 'convince' her?"

Henry got to his feet, leaned menacingly toward the detective, and said, "When I got done with her, she would have been glad to give Mother a kidney!"

"Sit down, Wil!" Goren yelled. He leaned closer to the suspect, and the rage Eames saw in his eyes actually frightened her. She looked toward the mirror, then back at her partner. Goren's voice dropped in volume, but increased in menace. "You've done enough harm, don't you think?" He slammed his fist into the table…and dented it. Eames looked again toward the mirror, then back to her partner.

"Goren…" she started.

He looked at her, realizing he was on the edge. Again, she grounded him. He backed off, turning away from the suspect. "You're done, Wil. And so am I."

The door opened. Barek and Logan stood in the doorway with two uniforms behind them. Goren waved a hand. "Get him out of here."

The uniforms took him away. Logan and Barek looked at Eames, who was watching her partner, concerned. They looked at Goren. "You ok, Goren?" Logan asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine." He turned and walked past the other detectives out of the room.

Logan looked at Barek. "So who's a loose cannon?"

Eames glared at him. "Watch it, Logan," she warned, pushing past him and his partner.

Barek shook her head. "You never know when to shut up, do you, Mike?"

Deakins and Carver stopped Eames in the hall. "Is your partner ok, detective?" Carver asked.

"He's fine, Mr. Carver. You have what you need?"

"I do. You both did good work in there. Now I have to hold up my end of the deal. I have indictments to file."

Deakins waited until the ADA was gone before he turned to Eames. "You sure he's ok? He didn't look ok in there."

"Think about what that guy did, Captain. Would _you_ be ok in there?"

"Good point."

She said, "He's not going to get the death penalty. Bobby realizes that. Listen to the man. Henry isn't sane."

"He doesn't have an attorney, Alex. He very well could get the death penalty."

"He certainly deserves it, but I have my doubts."

"The ball is in Carver's court now. It's out of our hands. Go talk to your partner, and then I want you both out of here. And I don't want either of you back until Monday morning. Got it?"

"Sure. I don't know if my partner will get it though."

"Well, see that he does. Have a good weekend."


	21. Partners

Eames found him at his desk. She sat on the desk and leaned back, trying to see his face. "Bobby?"

He didn't look up. "I nearly lost it in there, Eames."

She leaned closer. "Yeah, I saw that. But you didn't. You kept it under control. You did a good job."

He raised his eyes to look at her. "I kept it under control…because you were there."

She smiled. "That's why we're partners, Bobby. Remember? And I'm not going anywhere."

His face relaxed into a smile. She was right. Partners took care of each other, watched out for each other. They covered each other's backs and kept each other safe.

Barek and Logan approached them. Logan looked at Goren. "You sure you're ok?"

Goren studied him. "Do you care, Logan?"

"Not really, but somebody's gotta watch out for Eames since I've gotta take care of Barek."

"Excuse me," Barek said. "Who watches out for _who_, Logan?"

"Yeah, well…"

Goren chuckled softly. "That's what we do. We watch out for each other." He laid a hand on his partner's leg and nodded at the other team of detectives. "Let's get some dinner."

Eames smiled at him. "I think I want Italian."

Barek nodded. "Sounds good to me. Your treat, Mike."

"My treat? Hey…if I'm treating we're having Chinese."

They headed toward the elevators. Goren's gentle voice rumbled back toward the squad room. "Don't be cheap, Logan. Remember…these girls have our backs; we'd better treat them right. I'll split the bill with you…"


End file.
